







, * o » x * <^ 9>, y o * x "* \V 





<&><? 

^ ^ 














<{ 






V^ 






v x 









\ V .# - 



v x 






^ ^ 
.0^° 









, 



', <Jt 



// "<s 



"%d« 



^,o^ 









^ ^ 




^ ^ 



^ p 



4^ 





















5? ^ 



<. 







^<$ 



$> u *« 



••^-,V'*-'*V 






^ 9* 



s? 







FAMOUS AFFINITIES 
OF HISTORY 

THE ROMANCE OF DEVOTION 

BY 

LYNDON ORR 

ILLUSTRATED 




HARPER fef BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

MCMXIV 



CT 3-503 
.©7 



COPYRIGHT 1909 1910. 1911. 1912 BY HARPER a BROTHERS 
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES CF AMERICA 
' PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER. 1914 

I-O 



SEP 28 1914 



■CI,A379727 









CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Story of Antony and Cleopatra 3 

Abelard and Heloise 19 

Queen Elizabeth and the Earl of Leicester .... 39 

Mary Queen of Scots and Lord Bothwell 55 

Queen Christina of Sweden and the Marquis Mo- 

naldeschi 73 

King Charles II. and Nell Gwyn 91 

Maurice of Saxony and Adrienne Lecouvreur . . . 109 

The Story of Prince Charles Edward Stuart . . . 129 

The Empress Catharine and Prince Potemkin . . . 145 

Marie Antoinette and Count Persen 163 

The Story of Aaron Burr 181 

George IV. and Mrs. Fitzherbert 201 

Charlotte Cord ay and Adam Lux ........ 217 

Napoleon and Marie Walewska 231 

The Story of Pauline Bonaparte 251 

The Story of the Empress Marie Louise and Count 

Neipperg 267 

The Wives of General Houston 291 

Lola Montez and King Ludwig of Bavaria 307 

Leon Gambetta and Leonie Leon 9 . 317 

Lady Blessington and Count d'Orsay 337 

The Story of Rachel 357 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Cleopatra and Caesar 

Abelard 

Queen Elizabeth 

Nell Gwyn 

Adrienne Lecouvreur . 

Catharine II., Empress of Russia 

Marie Antoinette 

Louis XVI 

Madame Jumel 

George IV 

Charlotte Corday 

Pauline Bonaparte 

Marie Louise 

General Sam Houston 

Caricature of Lola Montez's Departure for 

America 

The Countess of Blessington 



Frontispiece 



Faa 



ng p. 20 
40 
102 
110 
I48 
I64 
168 
I96 
202 
218 
252 
268 
292 

308 

344 



THE STORY OF 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 



FAMOUS 
AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

THE STORY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

OF all love stories that are known to human 
history, the love story of Antony and Cleopatra 
has been for nineteen centuries the most remarkable. 
It has tasked the resources of the plastic and the 
graphic arts. It has been made the theme of poets 
and of prose narrators. It has appeared and reap- 
peared in a thousand forms, and it appeals as much 
to the imagination to-day as it did when Antony 
deserted his almost victorious troops and hastened in 
a swift galley from Actium in pursuit of Cleopatra. 

The wonder of the story is explained by its extraor- 
dinary nature. Many men in private life have lost 
fortune and fame for the love of woman. Kings have 
incurred the odium of their people, and have cared 
nothing for it in comparison with the joys of sense 
that come from lingering caresses and clinging kisses. 
Cold-blooded statesmen, such as Parnell, have lost 
the leadership of their party and have gone down in 
history with a clouded name because of the fascina- 
tion exercised upon them by some woman, often far 

3 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

from beautiful, and yet possessing the mysterious 
power which makes the triumphs of statesmanship 
seem slight in comparison with the swiftly flying 
hours of pleasure. 

But in the case of Antony and Cleopatra alone do 
we find a man flinging away not merely the triumphs 
of civic honors or the headship of a state, but much 
more than these — the mastery of what was practi- 
cally the world — in answer to the promptings of a 
woman's will. Hence the story of the Roman 
triumvir and the Egyptian queen is not like any 
other story that has yet been told. The sacrifice in- 
volved in it was so overwhelming, so instantaneous, 
and so complete as to set this narrative above all 
others. Shakespeare's genius has touched it with the 
glory of a great imagination. Dryden, using it in the 
finest of his plays, expressed its nature in the title 
"All for Love." 

The distinguished Italian historian, Signor Fer- 
rero, the author of many books, has tried hard to 
eliminate nearly all the romantic elements from the 
tale, and to have us see in it not the triumph of love, 
but the blindness of ambition. Under his handling it 
becomes almost a sordid drama of man's pursuit of 
power and of woman's selfishness. Let us review the 
story as it remains, even after we have taken full 
account of Ferrero's criticism. Has the world for 
nineteen hundred years been blinded by a show of 
sentiment? Has it so absolutely been misled by 
those who lived and wrote in the days which followed 
closely on the events that make up this extraordinary 
narrative ? 

In answering these questions we must consider, 
in the first place, the scene, and, in the second place, 
the psychology of the two central characters who for 

4 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

so long a time have been regarded as the very em- 
bodiment of unchecked passion. 

As to the scene, it must be remembered that the 
Egypt of those days was not Egyptian as we under- 
stand the word, but rather Greek. Cleopatra her- 
self was of Greek descent. The kingdom of Egypt 
had been created by a general of Alexander the 
Great after that splendid warrior's death. Its 
capital, the most brilliant city of the Greco-Roman 
world, had been founded by Alexander himself, who 
gave to it his name. With his own hands he traced 
out the limits of the city and issued the most per- 
emptory orders that it should be made the metrop- 
olis of the entire world. The orders of a king cannot 
give enduring greatness to a city; but Alexander's 
keen eye and marvelous brain saw at once that the 
site of Alexandria was such that a great commercial 
community planted there would live and flourish 
throughout succeeding ages. He was right; for 
within a century this new capital of Egypt leaped 
to the forefront among the exchanges of the world's 
commerce, while everything that art could do was 
lavished on its embellishment. 

Alexandria lay upon a projecting tongue of land so 
situated that the whole trade of the Mediterranean 
centered there. Down the Nile there floated to its 
gates the barbaric wealth of Africa. To it came the 
treasures of the East, brought from afar by caravans 
— silks from China, spices and pearls and emeralds 
from India, and enormous masses of gold and silver 
from lands whose names were scarcely known. In 
its harbor were the vessels of every country, from 
Asia in the East to Spain and Gaul and even Britain 
in the West. 

When Cleopatra, a young girl of seventeen, suc- 

5 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

ceeded to the throne of Egypt the population of 
Alexandria amounted to a million souls. The cus- 
toms duties collected at the port would, in terms of 
modern money, amount each year to more than 
thirty million dollars, even though the imposts were 
not heavy. The people, who may be described as 
Greek at the top and Oriental at the bottom, were 
boisterous and pleasure-loving, devoted to splendid 
spectacles, with horse-racing, gambling, and dissi- 
pation; yet at the same time they were an artistic 
people, loving music passionately, and by no means 
idle, since one part of the city was devoted to large 
and prosperous manufactories of linen, paper, glass, 
and muslin. 

To the outward eye Alexandria was extremely 
beautiful. Through its entire length ran two great 
boulevards, shaded and diversified by mighty trees 
and parterres of multicolored flowers, amid which 
fountains plashed and costly marbles gleamed. 
One-fifth of the whole city was known as the Royal 
Residence. In it were the palaces of the reigning 
family, the great museum, and the famous library 
which the Arabs later burned. There were parks and 
gardens brilliant with tropical foliage and adorned 
with the masterpieces of Grecian sculpture, while 
sphinxes and obelisks gave a suggestion of Oriental 
strangeness. As one looked seaward his eye beheld 
over the blue water the snow-white rocks of the 
sheltering island, Pharos, on which was reared a 
lighthouse four hundred feet in height and justly 
numbered among the seven wonders of the world. 

Altogether, Alexandria was a city of wealth, of 
beauty, of stirring life, of excitement, and of pleasure. 
Ferrero has aptly likened it to Paris — not so much 
the Paris of to-day as the Paris of fortv years ago, 

6 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

when the Second Empire flourished in all its splendor 
as the home of joy and strange delights. 

Over the country of which Alexandria was the 
capital Cleopatra came to reign at seventeen. Fol- 
lowing the odd custom which the Greek dynasty 
of the Ptolemies had inherited from their Egyptian 
predecessors, she was betrothed to her own brother. 
He, however, was a mere child of less than twelve, 
and was under the control of evil counselors, who, in 
his name, gained control of the capital and drove 
Cleopatra into exile. Until then she had been a 
mere girl; but now the spirit of a woman who was 
wronged blazed up in her and called out all her latent 
powers. Hastening to Syria, she gathered about 
herself an army and led it against her foes. 

But meanwhile Julius Caesar, the greatest man of 
ancient times, had arrived at Alexandria backed by 
an army of his veterans. Against him no resistance 
would avail. Then came a brief moment during 
which the Egyptian king and the Egyptian queen 
each strove to win the favor of the Roman imperator. 
The king and his advisers had many arts, and so 
had Cleopatra. One thing, however, she possessed 
which struck the balance in her favor, and this was a 
woman's fascination. 

According to the story, Caesar was unwilling to 
receive her. There came into his presence, as he 
sat in the palace, a group of slaves bearing a long roll 
of matting, bound carefully and seeming to contain 
some precious work of art. The slaves made signs 
that they were bearing a gift to Caesar. The master 
of Egypt bade them unwrap the gift that he might 
see it. They did so, and out of the wrapping came 
Cleopatra — a radiant vision, appealing, irresistible. 
Next morning it became known everywhere that 

7 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Cleopatra had remained in Caesar's quarters through 
the night and that her enemies were now his enemies. 
In desperation they rushed upon his legions, casting 
aside all pretense of amity. There ensued a fierce 
contest, but the revolt was quenched in blood. 

This was a crucial moment in Cleopatra's life. 
She had sacrificed all that a woman has to give ; but 
she had not done so from any love of pleasure or 
from wantonness. She was queen of Egypt, and she 
had redeemed her kingdom and kept it by her 
sacrifice. One should not condemn her too severely, 
In a sense, her act was one of heroism like that of 
Judith in the tent of Holof ernes. But be} T ond all 
question it changed her character. It taught her the 
secret of her own great power. Henceforth she was 
no longer a mere girl, nor a woman of the ordinary 
type. Her contact with so great a mind as Caesar's 
quickened her intellect. Her knowledge that, by the 
charms of sense, she had mastered even him trans- 
formed her into a strange and wonderful creature. 
She learned to study the weaknesses of men, to play 
on their emotions, to appeal to every subtle taste and 
fancy. In her were blended mental power and that 
illusive, indefinable gift which is called charm. 

For Cleopatra was never beautiful. Signor Ferrero 
seems to think this fact to be discovery of his own, 
but it was set down by Plutarch in a very striking 
passage written less than a century after Cleopatra 
and Antony died. We may quote here what the 
Greek historian said of her : 

Her actual beauty was far from being so remarkable that 
none could be compared with her, nor was it such that it would 
strike your fancy when you saw her first. Yet the influence of 
her presence, if you lingered near her, was irresistible. Her 
attractive personality, joined with the charm of her conversa- 

8 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

tion, and the individual touch that she gave to everything she 
said or did, were utterly bewitching. It was delightful merely 
to hear the music of her voice, with which, like an instrument 
of many strings, she could pass from one language to another. 

Caesar had left Cleopatra firmly seated on the 
throne of Egypt. For six years she reigned with 
great intelligence, keeping order in her dominions, 
and patronizing with discrimination both arts and 
letters. But ere long the convulsions of the Roman 
state once more caused her extreme anxiety. Caesar 
had been assassinated, and there ensued a period of 
civil war. Out of it emerged two striking figures 
which were absolutely contrasted in their character. 
One was Octavian, the adopted son of Caesar, a man 
who, though still quite young and possessed of great 
ability, was cunning, cold-blooded, and deceitful. 
The other was Antony, a soldier by training, and 
with all a soldier's bluntness, courage, and lawless- 
ness. 

The Roman world was divided for the time be- 
tween these two men, Antony receiving the govern- 
ment of the East, Octavian that of the West. In the 
year which had preceded this division Cleopatra had 
wavered between the two opposite factions at Rome. 
In so doing she had excited the suspicion of Antony, 
and he now demanded of her an explanation. 

One must have some conception of Antony him- 
self in order to understand the events that followed. 
He was essentially a soldier, of excellent family, 
being related to Caesar himself. As a very young 
man he was exceedingly handsome, and bad com- 
panions led him into the pursuit of vicious pleasure. 
He had scarcely come of age when he found that he 
owed the enormous sum of two hundred and fifty 
talents, equivalent to half a million dollars in the 

2 9 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

money of to-day. But he was much more than a 
mere man of pleasure, given over to drinking and to 
dissipation. Men might tell of his escapades, as 
when he drove about the streets of Rome in a com- 
mon cab, dangling his legs out of the window while 
he shouted forth drunken songs of revelry. This was 
not the whole of Antony. Joining the Roman army 
in Syria, he showed himself to be a soldier of great 
personal bravery, a clever strategist, and also hu- 
mane and merciful in the hour of victory. 

Unlike most Romans, Antony wore a full beard. 
His forehead was large, and his nose was of the dis- 
tinctive Roman type. His look was so bold and 
masculine that people likened him to Hercules. 
His democratic manners endeared him to the army. 
He wore a plain tunic covered with a large, coarse 
mantle, and carried a huge sword at his side, despising 
ostentation. Even his faults and follies added to his 
popularity. He would sit down at the common 
soldiers' mess and drink with them, telling them 
stories and clapping them on the back. He spent 
money like water, quickly recognizing any daring 
deed which his legionaries performed. In this re- 
spect he was like Napoleon; and, like Napoleon, he 
had a vein of florid eloquence which was criticized 
by literary men, but which went straight to the 
heart of the private soldier. In a word, he was a 
powerful, virile, passionate, able man, rough, as were 
nearly all his countrymen, but strong and true. 

It was to this general that Cleopatra was to 
answer, and with a firm reliance on the charms 
which had subdued Antony's great commander, 
Caesar, she set out in person for Cilicia, in Asia Minor, 
sailing up the river Cydnus to the place where 
Antony was encamped with his army. Making all 

10 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

allowance for the exaggeration of historians, there 
can be no doubt that she appeared to him like some 
dreamy vision. Her barge was gilded, and was 
wafted on its way by swelling sails of Tyrian purple. 
The oars which smote the water were of shining 
silver. As she drew near the Roman general's camp 
the languorous music of flutes and harps breathed 
forth a strain of invitation. 

Cleopatra herself lay upon a divan set upon the 
deck of the barge beneath a canopy of woven gold. 
She was dressed to resemble Venus, while girls about 
her personated nymphs and Graces. Delicate per- 
fumes diffused themselves from the vessel; and at 
last, as she drew near the shore, all the people for 
miles about were gathered there, leaving Antony to 
sit alone in the tribunal where he was dispensing 
justice. 

Word was brought to him that Venus had come 
to feast with Bacchus. Antony, though still sus- 
picious of Cleopatra, sent her an invitation to dine 
with him in state. With graceful tact she sent him 
a counter-invitation, and he came. The magnifi- 
cence of his reception dazzled the man who had so 
long known only a soldier's fare, or at most the crude 
entertainments which he had enjoyed in Rome. A 
marvelous display of lights was made. Thousands 
upon thousands of candles shone brilliantly, ar- 
ranged in squares and circles; while the banquet it- 
self was one that symbolized the studied luxury of 
the East. 

At this time Cleopatra was twenty-seven years of 
age — a period of life which modern physiologists 
have called the crisis in a woman's growth. She had 
never really loved before, since she had given her- 
self to Caesar, not because she cared for him, but to 

ii 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

save her kingdom. She now came into the pres- 
ence of one whose manly beauty and strong passions 
were matched by her own subtlety and appealing 
charm. 

When Antony addressed her he felt himself a 
rustic in her presence. Almost resentful, he betook 
himself to the coarse language of the camp. Cleo- 
patra, with marvelous adaptability, took her tone 
from his, and thus in a moment put him at his ease. 
Ferrer o, who takes a most unfavorable view of her 
character and personality, nevertheless explains the 
secret of her fascination: 

Herself utterly cold and callous, insensitive by nature to the 
flame of true devotion, Cleopatra was one of those women gifted 
with an unerring instinct for all the various roads to men's 
affections. She could be the shrinking, modest girl, too shy to 
reveal her half -unconscious emotions of jealousy and depression 
and self-abandonment, or a woman carried away by the sweep 
of a fiery and uncontrollable passion. She could tickle the es- 
thetic sensibilities of her victims by rich and gorgeous festivals, 
by the fantastic adornment of her own person and her palace, 
or by brilliant discussions on literature and art; she could 
conjure up all their grossest instincts with the vilest obsceni- 
ties of conversation, with the free and easy jocularity of a 
woman of the camps. 

These last words are far too strong, and they 
represent only Ferrero's personal opinion; yet there 
is no doubt that she met every mood of Antony's, 
so that he became enthralled with her at once. No 
such woman as this had ever cast her eyes on him 
before. He had a wife at home — a most disreputa- 
ble wife — so that he cared little for domestic ties. 
Later, out of policy, he made another marriage with 
the sister of his rival, Octavian, but this wife he 
never cared for. His heart and soul were given up 
to Cleopatra, the woman who could be a comrade in 

12 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

the camp and a fount of tenderness in their hours of 
dalliance, and who possessed the keen intellect of a 
man joined to the arts and fascinations of a woman. 

On her side she found in Antony an ardent lover, 
a man of vigorous masculinity, and, moreover, a 
soldier whose armies might well sustain her on 
the throne of Egypt. That there was calculation 
mingled with her love, no one can doubt. That 
some calculation also entered into Antony's affec- 
tion is likewise certain. Yet this does not affect the 
truth that each was wholly given to the other. Why 
should it have lessened her love for him to feel that 
he could protect her and defend her? Why should 
it have lessened his love for her to know that she 
was queen of the richest country in the world — one 
that could supply his needs, sustain his armies, and 
gild his triumphs with magnificence? 

There are many instances in history of regnant 
queens who loved and yet whose love was not dis- 
sociated from the policy of state. Such were Anne 
of Austria, Elizabeth of England, and the unfortu- 
nate Mary Stuart. Such, too, we cannot fail to 
think, was Cleopatra. 

The two remained together for ten years. In this 
time Antony was separated from her only during a 
campaign in the East. In Alexandria he ceased to 
seem a Roman citizen and gave himself up wholly 
to the charms of this enticing woman. Many stories 
are told of their good fellowship and close intimacy. 
Plutarch quotes Plato as saying that there are four 
kinds of flattery, but he adds that Cleopatra had a 
thousand. She was the supreme mistress of the 
art of pleasing. 

Whether Antony were serious or mirthful, she had at the 
instant some new delight or some new charm to meet his wishes. 

13 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

At every turn she was with him both day and night. With 
him she threw dice; with him she drank; with him she hunted; 
and when he exercised himself in arms she was there to admire 
and applaud. 

At night the pair would disguise themselves as 
servants and wander about the streets of Alexandria. 
In fact, more than once they were set upon in the 
slums and treated roughly by the rabble who did 
not recognize them. Cleopatra was always allur- 
ing, always tactful, often humorous, and full of 
frolic. 

Then came the shock of Antony's final breach 
with Oct avian. Either Antony or his rival must 
rule the world. Cleopatra's lover once more be- 
came the Roman general, and with a great fleet pro- 
ceeded to the coast of Greece, where his enemy was 
encamped. Antony had raised a hundred and twelve 
thousand troops and five hundred ships — a force far 
superior to that commanded by Octavian. Cleo- 
patra was there with sixty ships. 

In the days that preceded the final battle much 
took place which still remains obscure. It seems 
likely that Antony desired to become again the 
Roman, while Cleopatra wished him to thrust Rome 
aside and return to Egypt with her, to reign there 
as an independent king. To her Rome was almost 
a barbarian city. In it she could not hold sway as 
she could in her beautiful Alexandria, with its blue 
skies and velvet turf and tropical flowers. At Rome 
Antony would be distracted by the cares of state, 
and she would lose her lover. At Alexandria she 
would have him for her very own. 

The clash came when the hostile fleets met off 
the promontory of Actium. At its crisis Cleopatra, 
prematurely concluding that the battle was lost, of 

14 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

a sudden gave the signal for retreat and put out to 
sea with her fleet. This was the crucial moment. 
Antony, mastered by his love, forgot all else, and in 
a swift ship started in pursuit of her, abandoning his 
fleet and army to win or lose as fortune might de- 
cide. For him the world was nothing; the dark- 
browed Queen of Egypt, imperious and yet caressing, 
was everything. Never was such a prize and never 
were such great hopes thrown carelessly away. 
After waiting seven days Antony's troops, still un- 
defeated, finding that their commander would not 
return to them, surrendered to Octavian, who thus 
became the master of an empire. 

Later his legions assaulted Alexandria, and there 
Antony was twice defeated. At last Cleopatra saw 
her great mistake. She had made her lover give up 
the hope of being Rome's dictator, but in so doing 
she had also lost the chance of ruling with him tran- 
quilly in Egypt. She shut herself behind the barred 
doors of the royal sepulcher; and, lest she should 
be molested there, she sent forth word that she had 
died. Her proud spirit could not brook the thought 
that she might be seized and carried as a prisoner to 
Rome. She was too much a queen in soul to be led 
in triumph up the Sacred Way to the Capitol with 
golden chains clanking on her slender wrists. 

Antony, believing the report that she was dead, 
fell upon his sword; but in his dying moments he 
was carried into the presence of the woman for 
whom he had given all. With her arms about him, 
his spirit passed away; and soon after she, too, 
met death, whether by a poisoned draught or by the 
storied asp no one can say. 

Cleopatra had lived the mistress of a splendid 
kingdom. She had successively captivated two of 

J 5 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

the greatest men whom Rome had ever seen. She 
died, like a queen, to escape disgrace. Whatever 
modern critics may have to say concerning small 
details, this story still remains the strangest love 
story of which the world has any record. 



ABELARD AND HELOISE 



ABfiLARD AND HfiLOISE 

MANY a woman, amid the transports of passion- 
ate and languishing love, has cried out in a 
sort of ecstasy: 

"I love you as no woman ever loved a man be- 
fore !" 

When she says this she believes it. Her whole 
soul is aflame with the ardor of emotion. It really 
seems to her that no one ever could have loved so 
much as she. 

This cry — spontaneous, untaught, sincere — has 
become almost one of those conventionalities of 
amorous expression which belong to the vocabulary 
of self-abandonment. Every woman who utters it, 
when torn by the almost terrible extravagance of a 
great love, believes that no one before her has ever 
said it, and that in her own case it is absolutely 
true. 

Yet, how many women are really faithful to the 
end? Very many, indeed, if circumstances admit 
of easy faithfulness. A high-souled, generous, ar- 
dent nature will endure an infinity of disillusionment, 
of misfortune, of neglect, and even of ill treatment. 
Even so, the flame, though it may sink low, can be 
revived again to burn as brightly as before. But 
in order that this may be so it is necessary that the 
object of such a wonderful devotion be alive, that 
he be present and visible; or, if he be absent, that 

19 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

there should still exist some hope of renewing the 
exquisite intimacy of the past. 

A man who is sincerely loved may be compelled 
to take long journeys which will separate him for an 
indefinite time from the woman who has given her 
heart to him, and she will still be constant. He 
may be imprisoned, perhaps for life, yet there is al- 
ways the hope of his release or of his escape; and 
some women will be faithful to him and will watch 
for his return. But, given a situation which abso- 
lutely bars out hope, which sunders two souls in such 
a way that they can never be united in this world, 
and there we have a test so terribly severe that few 
even of the most loyal and intensely clinging lovers 
can endure it. 

Not that such a situation would lead a woman to 
turn to any other man than the one to whom she 
had given her very life; but we might expect that 
at least her strong desire would cool and weaken. 
She might cherish his memory among the precious 
souvenirs of her love life; but that she should still 
pour out the same rapturous, unstinted passion as 
before seems almost too much to believe. The an- 
nals of emotion record only one such instance; and 
so this instance has become known to all, and has 
been cherished for nearly a thousand years. It in- 
volves the story of a woman who did love, perhaps, 
as no one ever loved before or since; for she was 
subjected to this cruel test, and she met the test 
not alone completely, but triumphantly and almost 
fiercely. 

The story is, of course, the story of Abelard and 
Heloise. It has many times been falsely told. Por- 
tions of it have been omitted, and other portions of 
it have been garbled. A whole literature has grown 

20 



ABELARD AND HfiLOISE 

up around the subject. It may well be worth our 
while to clear away the ambiguities and the doubt- 
ful points, and once more to tell it simply, without 
bias, and with a strict adherence to what seems to 
be the truth attested by authentic records. 

There is one circumstance connected with the 
story which we must specially note. The narrative 
does something more than set forth the one quite 
unimpeachable instance of unconquered constancy. 
It shows how, in the last analysis, that which touches 
the human heart has more vitality and more endur- 
ing interest than what concerns the intellect or 
those achievements of the human mind which are 
external to our emotional nature. 

Pierre Abelard was undoubtedly the boldest and 
most creative reasoner of his time. As a wandering 
teacher he drew after him thousands of enthusiastic 
students. He gave a strong impetus to learning. 
He was a marvelous logician and an accomplished 
orator. Among his pupils were men who afterward 
became prelates of the church and distinguished 
scholars. In the Dark Age, when the dictates of rea- 
son were almost wholly disregarded, he fought fear- 
lessly for intellectual freedom. He was practically 
the founder of the University of Paris, which in turn 
became the mother of medieval and modern uni- 
versities. 

He was, therefore, a great and striking figure in 
the history of civilization. Nevertheless, he would 
to-day be remembered only by scholars and students 
of the Middle Ages were it not for the fact that he 
inspired the most enduring love that history records. 
If Heloise had never loved him, and if their story 
had not been so tragic and so poignant, he would 
be to-day only a name known to but a few. His 

21 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

final resting-place, in the cemetery of Pere Lachaise, 
in Paris, would not be sought out by thousands 
every year and kept bright with flowers, the gift of 
those who have themselves both loved and suffered. 

Pierre Abelard — or, more fully, Pierre Abelard de 
Palais — was a native of Brittany, born in the year 
1079. His father was a knight, the lord of the 
manor; but Abelard cared little for the life of a 
petty noble; and so he gave up his seignorial rights 
to his brothers and went forth to become, first of 
all a student, and then a public lecturer and teacher. 

His student days ended abruptly in Paris. In 
that city he had enrolled himself as the pupil of a 
distinguished philosopher, Guillaume de Champeaux ; 
but one day Abelard engaged in a disputation 
with his master. His wonderful combination of 
eloquence, logic, and originality utterly routed 
and silenced Champeaux, who was thus humiliated 
in the presence of his disciples. He was the first 
of many enemies that Abelard was destined to make 
in his long and stormy career. From that moment 
the young Breton himself set up as a teacher of 
philosophy, and the brilliancy of his discourses soon 
drew to him great throngs of students from all over 
Europe. 

Before proceeding with the story of Abelard it 
is well to reconstruct, however slightly, a picture of 
the times in which he lived. It was an age when 
Western Europe was but partly civilized. Pedantry 
and learning of the most minute sort existed side 
by side with the most violent excesses of medieval 
barbarism. The Church had undertaken the gigantic 
task of subduing and enlightening the semi-pagan 
peoples of France and Germany and England. 

When we look back at that period some will un- 

22 



ABELARD AND HELOISE 

justly censure Rome for not controlling more com- 
pletely the savagery of the medievals. More fairly 
should we wonder at the great measure of success 
which had already been achieved. The leaven of a 
true Christianity was working in the half -pagan popu- 
lations. It had not yet completely reached the nobles 
and the knights, or even all the ecclesiastics who 
served it and who were consecrated to its mission. 
Thus, amid a sort of political chaos were seen the 
glaring evils of feudalism. Kings and princes and 
their followers lived the lives of swine or tigers. 
Private blood-feuds were regarded lightly. There 
was as yet no single central power. Every man car- 
ried his life in his hand, trusting to sword and dagger 
for protection. 

The cities were still mere hamlets clustered around 
great castles or fortified cathedrals. In Paris itself 
the network of dark lanes, ill lighted and unguarded, 
was the scene of midnight murder and assassination. 
In the winter- time wolves infested the town by night. 
Men-at-arms, with torches and spears, often had to 
march out from their barracks to assail the snarling, 
yelping packs of savage animals that hunger drove 
from the surrounding forests. 

Paris of the twelfth century was typical of France 
itself, which was harried by human wolves intent 
on rapine and wanton plunder. There were great 
schools of theology, but the students who attended 
them fought and slashed one another. If a man's 
life was threatened he must protect it by his own 
strength or by gathering about him a band of 
friends. No one was safe. No one was tolerant. 
Very few were free from the grosser vices. Even 
in some of the religious houses the brothers would 
meet at night for unseemly revels, splashing the 

23 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

stone floors with wine and shrieking in a delirium 
of drunkenness. The rules of the Church enjoined 
temperance, continence, and celibacy; but the de- 
crees of Leo IX. and Nicholas II. and Alex- 
ander II. and Gregory were only partially ob- 
served. 

In fact, Europe was in a state of chaos — political 
and moral and social. Only very slowly was order 
emerging from sheer anarchy. We must remember 
this when we recall some facts which meet us in the 
story of Abelard and Heloise. 

The jealousy of Champeaux drove Abelard for a 
time from Paris. He taught and lectured at several 
other centers of learning, always admired, and yet 
at the same time denounced by many for his ad- 
vocacy of reason as against blind faith. During the 
years of his wandering he came to have a wide 
knowledge of the world and of human nature. If 
we try to imagine him as he was in his thirty-fifth 
year we shall find in him a remarkable combination 
of attractive qualities. 

It must be remembered that though, in a sense, 
he was an ecclesiastic, he had not yet been ordained 
to the priesthood, but was rather a canon — a person 
who did not belong to any religious order, though he 
was supposed to live according to a definite set of 
religious rules and as a member of a religious com- 
munity. Abelard, however, made rather light of 
his churchly associations. He was at once an ac- 
complished man of the world and a profound scholar. 
There was nothing of the recluse about him. He 
mingled with his fellow men, whom he dominated 
by the charm of his personality. He was eloquent, 
ardent, and persuasive. He could turn a delicate 
compliment as skilfully as he could elaborate a 

24 



ABfiLARD AND HELOISE 

syllogism. His rich voice had in it a seductive qual- 
ity which was never without its effect. 

Handsome and well formed, he possessed as much 
vigor of body as of mind. Nor were his accomplish- 
ments entirely those of the scholar. He wrote dainty 
verses, which he also set to music, and which he 
sang himself with a rare skill. Some have called 
him "the first of the troubadours," and many who 
cared nothing for his skill in logic admired him for 
his gifts as a musician and a poet. Altogether, he 
was one to attract attention wherever he went, for 
none could fail to recognize his power. 

It was soon after his thirty-fifth year that he re- 
turned to Paris, where he was welcomed by thou- 
sands. With much tact he reconciled himself to 
his enemies, so that his life now seemed to be full 
of promise and of sunshine. 

It was at this time that he became acquainted 
with a very beautiful young girl named Heloise. 
She was only eighteen years of age, yet already she 
possessed not only beauty, but many accomplish- 
ments which were then quite rare in women, since 
she both wrote and spoke a number of languages, 
and, like Abelard, was a lover of music and poetry. 
Heloise was the illegitimate daughter of a canon of 
patrician blood; so that she is said to have been a 
worthy representative of the noble house of the 
Montmorencys — famous throughout French history 
for chivalry and charm. 

Up to this time we do not know precisely what 
sort of life Abelard had lived in private. His ene- 
mies declared that he had squandered his substance 
in vicious ways. His friends denied this, and rep- 
resented him as strict and chaste. The truth prob- 
ably lies between these two assertions. He was 

3 25 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

naturally a pleasure-loving man of the world, who 
may very possibly have relieved his severer studies 
by occasional revelry and light love. It is not at 
all likely that he was addicted to gross passions and 
low practices. 

But such as he was, when he first saw Heloise he 
conceived for her a violent attachment. Carefully 
guarded in the house of her uncle, Fulbert, it was 
difficult at first for Abelard to meet her save in the 
most casual way; yet every time that he heard her 
exquisite voice and watched her graceful manners 
he became more and more infatuated. His studies 
suddenly seemed tame and colorless beside the fierce 
scarlet flame which blazed up in his heart. 

Nevertheless, it was because of these studies and 
of his great reputation as a scholar that he managed 
to obtain access to Heloise. He flattered her uncle 
and made a chance proposal that he should himself 
become an inmate of Fulbert 's household in order 
that he might teach this girl of so much promise. 
Such an offer coming from so brilliant a man was 
joyfully accepted. 

From that time Abelard could visit Heloise with- 
out restraint. He was her teacher, and the two 
spent hours together, nominally in the study of 
Greek and Hebrew; but doubtless very little was 
said between them upon such unattractive subjects. 
On the contrary, with all his wide experience of life, 
his eloquence, his perfect manners, and his fascina- 
tion, Abelard put forth his power to captivate the 
senses of a girl still in her teens and quite ignorant 
of the world. As Remusat says, he employed 
to win her the genius which had overwhelmed 
all the great centers of learning in the Western 
world. 

26 



ABELARD and h£loIse 

It was then that the pleasures of knowledge, the joys of thought, 
the emotions of eloquence, were all called into play to charm and 
move and plunge into a profound and strange intoxication this 
noble and tender heart which had never known either love or 
sorrow. . . . One can imagine that everything helped on the 
inevitable end. Their studies gave them opportunities to see 
each other freely, and also permitted them to be alone together. 
Then their books lay open between them; but either long 
periods of silence stilled their reading, or else words of deepen- 
ing intimacy made them forget their studies altogether. The 
eyes of the two lovers turned from the book to mingle their 
glances, and then to turn away in a confusion that was conscious. 

Hand would touch hand, apparently by accident; 
and when conversation ceased, Abelard would often 
hear the long, quivering sigh which showed the 
strange, half -frightened, and yet exquisite joy which 
Heloise experienced. 

It was not long before the girl's heart had been 
wholly won. Transported by her emotion, she met 
the caresses of her lover with those as unrestrained 
as his. Her very innocence deprived her of the 
protection which older women would have had. All 
was given freely, and even wildly, by Heloise; and 
all was taken by Abelard, who afterward himself 
declared : 

"The pleasure of teaching her to love surpassed 
the delightful fragrance of all the perfumes in the 
world." 

Yet these two could not always live in a paradise 
which was entirely their own. The world of Paris 
took notice of their close association. Some poems 
written to Heloise by Abelard, as if in letters of fire, 
were found and shown to Fulbert, who, until this 
time, had suspected nothing. Angrily he ordered 
Abelard to leave his house. He forbade his niece 
to see her lover any more. 

27 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

But the two could not be separated; and, indeed, 
there was good reason why they should still cling 
together. Secretly Heloise left her uncle's house 
and fled through the narrow lanes of Paris to the 
dwelling of Abelard 's sister, Denyse, where Abelard 
himself was living. There, presently, the young 
girl gave birth to a son, who was named Astrolabe, 
after an instrument used by astronomers, since both 
the father and the mother felt that the offspring of 
so great a love should have no ordinary name. 

Fulbert was furious, and rightly so. His hospi- 
tality had been outraged and his niece dishonored. 
He insisted that the pair should at once be married. 
Here was revealed a certain weakness in the char- 
acter of Abelard. He consented to the marriage, 
but insisted that it should be kept an titter secret. 

Oddly enough, it was Heloise herself who objected 
to becoming the wife of the man she loved. Unsel- 
fishness could go no farther. She saw that, were he 
to marry her, his advancement in the Church would 
be almost impossible; for, while the very minor 
clergy sometimes married in spite of the papal bulls, 
matrimony was becoming a fatal bar to ecclesiasti- 
cal promotion. And so Heloise pleaded pitifully, 
both with her uncle and with Abelard, that there 
should be no marriage. She would rather bear all 
manner of disgrace than stand in the way of Abe- 
lard's advancement. 

He has himself given some of the words in which 
she pleaded with him: 

What glory shall I win from you, when I have made you 
quite inglorious and have humbled both of us? What ven- 
geance will the world inflict on me if I deprive it of one so 
brilliant? What curses will follow such a marriage? How 
outrageous would it be that you, whom nature created for the 

28 



ABELARD AND HELOISE 

universal good, should be devoted to one woman and plunged 
into such disgrace? I loathe the thought of a marriage which 
would humiliate you. 

Indeed, every possible effort which another woman 
in her place would employ to make him marry her 
she used in order to dissuade him. Finally, her 
sweet face streaming with tears, she uttered that 
tremendous sentence which makes one really think 
that she loved him as no other woman ever loved 
a man. She cried out, in an agony of self-sacrifice: 

"I would rather be your mistress than the wife 
even of an emperor!" 

Nevertheless, the two were married, and Abelard 
returned to his lecture-room and to his studies. 
For months they met but seldom. Meanwhile, 
however, the taunts and innuendos directed against 
Heloise so irritated Fulbert that he broke his prom- 
ise of secrecy, and told his friends that Abelard and 
Heloise were man and wife. They went to Heloise 
for confirmation. Once more she showed in an 
extraordinary way the depth of her devotion. 

"I am no wife," she said. "It is not true that 
Abelard has married me. My uncle merely tells 
you this to save my reputation." 

They asked her whether she would swear to this; 
and, without a moment's hesitation, this pure and 
noble woman took an oath upon the Scriptures that 
there had been no marriage. 

Fulbert was enraged by this. He ill-treated He- 
loise, and, furthermore, he forbade Abelard to visit 
her. The girl, therefore, again left her uncle's 
house and betook herself to a convent just outside 
of Paris, where she assumed the habit of a nun as 
a disguise. There Abelard continued from time to 
time to meet her. 

29 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

When Fulbert heard of this he put his own inter- 
pretation on it. He believed that Abelard intended 
to ignore the marriage altogether, and that possibly 
he might even marry some other woman. In any 
case, he now hated Abelard with all his heart; and 
he resolved to take a fearful and unnatural vengeance 
which would at once prevent his enemy from making 
any other marriage, while at the same time it would 
debar him from ecclesiastical preferment. 

To carry out his plot Fulbert first bribed a man 
who was the body-servant of Abelard, watching at 
the door of his room each night. Then he hired 
the services of four ruffians. After Abelard had re- 
tired and was deep in slumber the treacherous valet 
unbarred the door. The hirelings of Fulbert en- 
tered and fell upon the sleeping man. Three of 
them bound him fast, while the fourth, with a ra- 
zor, inflicted on him the most shameful mutilation 
that is possible. Then, extinguishing the lights, the 
wretches slunk away and were lost in darkness, leav- 
ing behind their victim bound to his couch, uttering 
cries of torment and bathed in his own blood. 

It is a shocking story, and yet it is intensely char- 
acteristic of the lawless and barbarous era in which 
it happened. Early the next morning the news flew 
rapidly through Paris. The city hummed like a bee- 
hive. Citizens and students and ecclesiastics poured 
into the street and surrounded the house of Abelard. 

' 'Almost the entire city," says Fulques, as quoted 
by McCabe, "went clamoring toward his house. 
Women wept as if each one had lost her husband." 

Unmanned though he was, Abelard still retained 
enough of the spirit of his time to seek vengeance. 
He, in his turn, employed ruffians whom he set 
upon the track of those who had assaulted him. 

30 



ABELARD AND HfiLOISE 

The treacherous valet and one of Fulbert's hirelings 
were run down, seized, and mutilated precisely as 
Abelard had been; and their eyes were blinded. A 
third was lodged in prison. Fulbert himself was 
accused before one of the Church courts, which alone 
had power to punish an ecclesiastic, and all his goods 
were confiscated. 

But, meantime, how did it fare with Heloise? 
Her grief was greater than his own, while her love 
and her devotion were absolutely undiminished. 
But Abelard now showed a selfishness — and indeed, 
a meanness — far beyond any that he had before 
exhibited. Heloise could no more be his wife. He 
made it plain that he put no trust in her fidelity. 
He was unwilling that she should live in the world 
while he could not; and so he told her sternly that 
she must take the veil and bury herself for ever in a 
nunnery. 

The pain and shame which she experienced at this 
came wholly from the fact that evidently Abelard 
did not trust her. Long afterward she w T rote: 

God knows I should not have hesitated, at your command, 
to precede or to follow you to hell itself! 

It was his distrust that cut her to the heart. 
Still, her love for him was so intense that she obeyed 
his order. Soon after she took the vows ; and in the 
convent chapel, shaken with sobs, she knelt before 
the altar and assumed the veil of a cloistered nun. 
Abelard himself put on the black tunic of a Bene- 
dictine monk and entered the Abbey of St. Denis. 

It is unnecessary here to follow out all the details 
of the lives of Abelard and Heloise after this heart- 
rending scene. Abelard passed through many years 
of strife and disappointment, and even of humilia- 

31 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

tion; for on one occasion, just as he had silenced 
Guillaume de Champeaux, so he himself was silenced 
and put to rout by Bernard of Clairvaux — "a frail, 
tense, absorbed, dominant little man, whose face 
was white and worn with suffering," but in whose 
eyes there was a light of supreme strength. Bernard 
represented pure faith, as Abelard represented pure 
reason ; and the two men met before a great council 
to match their respective powers. 

Bernard, with fiery eloquence, brought a charge of 
heresy against Abelard; and he did so in an oration 
which was like a charge of cavalry. When he had 
concluded Abelard rose with an ashen face, stam- 
mered, faltered out a few words, and then sat down. 
He was condemned by the council, and his works 
were ordered to be burned. 

All his later life was one of misfortune, of humilia- 
tion, and even of personal danger. The reckless 
monks whom he tried to rule rose fiercely against 
him. His life was threatened. He betook himself 
to a desolate and lonely place, where he built for 
himself a hut of reeds and rushes, hoping to spend 
his final years in meditation. But there were many 
who had not forgotten his ability as a teacher. 
These flocked by hundreds to the desert place where 
he abode. His hut was surrounded by tents and 
rude hovels, built by his scholars for their shelter. 

Thus Abelard resumed his teaching, though in a 
very different frame of mind. In time he built a 
structure of wood and stone, which he called the 
Paraclete, some remains of which can still be seen. 

All this time no word had passed between him 
and Heloise. But presently Abelard wrote and 
gave to the world a curious and exceedingly frank 
book, which he called The Story of My Misfortunes. 

3? 



ABELARD AND HfiLOISE 

A copy of it reached the hands of Heloise, and she 
at once sent to Abelard the first of a series of letters 
which have remained unique in the literature of love. 

Ten years had passed, and yet the woman's heart 
was as faithful and as full of yearning as on the day 
when the two had parted. It has been said that 
the letters are not genuine, and they must be read 
with this assertion in mind; yet it is difficult to be- 
lieve that any one save Heloise herself could have 
flung a human soul into such frankly passionate ut- 
terances, or that any imitator could have done the 
work. 

In her first letter, which was sent to Abelard 
written upon parchment, she said: 

At thy command I would change, not merely my costume, 
but my very soul, so entirely art thou the sole possessor of my 
body and my spirit. Never, God is my witness, never have I 
sought anything in thee but thyself; I have sought thee, and 
not thy gifts. I have not looked to the marriage-bond or dowry. 

She begged him to write to her, and to lead her 
to God, as once he had led her into the mysteries 
of pleasure. Abelard answered in a letter, friendly 
to be sure, but formal — the letter of a priest to a 
cloistered nun. The opening words of it are char- 
acteristic of the whole: 



To Heloise, his sister in Christ, from Abelard, her brother 
in Him. 



The letter was a long one, but throughout the 
whole of it the writer's tone was cold and prudent. 
Its very coldness roused her soul to a passionate 
revolt. Her second letter bursts forth in a sort of 
anguish : 

33 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

How hast thou been able to frame such thoughts, dearest? 
How hast thou found words to convey them? Oh, if I dared 
but call God cruel to me! Oh, most wretched of all creatures 
that I am! | So sweet did I find the pleasures of our loving days 
that I cannot bring myself to reject them or to banish them 
from my memory. Wheresoever I go, they thrust themselves 
upon my vision, and rekindle the old desir°. 

But Abelard knew only too well that not in this 
life could there be anything save spiritual love be- 
tween himself and Heloise. He wrote to her again 
and again, always in the same remote and unim- 
passioned way. He tells her about the history of 
monasticism, and discusses with her matters of 
theology and ethics; but he never writes one word 
to feed the flame that is consuming her. The 
woman understood at last; and by degrees her let- 
ters became as calm as his — suffused, however, with 
a tenderness and feeling which showed that in her 
heart of hearts she was still entirely given to him. 

After some years Abelard left his dwelling at the 
Paraclete, and there was founded there a religious 
house of which Heloise became the abbess. All the 
world respected her for her sweetness, her wisdom, 
and the purity of her character. She made friends 
as easily as Abelard made enemies. Even Bernard, 
who had overthrown her husband, sought out 
Heloise to ask for her advice and counsel. 

Abelard died while on his way to Rome, whither 
he was journeying in order to undergo a penalty; 
and his body was brought back to the Paraclete, 
where it was entombed. Over it for twenty-two 
years Heloise watched with tender care; and when 
she died, her body was laid beside that of her lover. 

To-day their bones are mingled as she would have 
desired them to be mingled. The stones of their 

34 



ABELARD AND HfiLOISE 

tomb in the great cemetery of Pere Lachaise were 
brought from the ruins of the Paraclete, and above 
the sarcophagus are two recumbent figures, the whole 
being the work of the artist Alexandre Lenoir, who 
died in 1836. The figure representing Heloise is not, 
however, an authentic likeness. The model for it 
was a lady belonging to a noble family of France, 
and the figure itself was brought to Pere Lachaise 
from the ancient College de Beauvais. 

The letters of Heloise have been read and imi- 
tated throughout the whole of the last nine centuries. 
Some have found in them the utterances of a woman 
whose love of love was greater than her love of God 
and whose intensity of passion nothing could subdue ; 
and so these have condemned her. But others, like 
Chateaubriand, have more truly seen in them a pure 
and noble spirit to whom fate had been very cruel; 
and who was, after all, writing to the man who had 
been her lawful husband. 

Some of the most famous imitations of her letters 
are those in the ancient poem entitled, "The Ro- 
mance of the Rose," written by Jean de Meung, in 
the thirteenth century; and in modern times her 
first letter was paraphrased by Alexander Pope, and 
in French by Colardeau. There exist in English 
half a dozen translations of them, with Abelard's 
replies. It is interesting to remember that practi- 
cally all the other writings of Abelard remained un- 
published and unedited until a very recent period. 
He was a remarkable figure as a philosopher and 
scholar; but the world cares for him only because 
he was loved by Heloise. 



QUEEN ELIZABETH AND THE 
EARL OF LEICESTER 



QUEEN ELIZABETH AND THE EARL OF 
LEICESTER 

HISTORY has many romantic stories to tell of 
the part which women have played in deter- 
mining the destinies of nations. Sometimes it is a 
woman's beauty that causes the shifting of a prov- 
ince. Again it is another woman's rich possessions 
that incite invasion and lead to bloody wars. Mar- 
riages or dowries, or the refusal of marriages and the 
lack of dowries, inheritance through an heiress, the 
failure of a male succession — in these and in many 
other ways women have set their mark indelibly 
upon the trend of history. 

However, if we look over these different events 
we shall find that it is not so much the mere longing 
for a woman — the desire to have her as a queen — 
that has seriously affected the annals of any nation. 
Kings, like ordinary men, have paid their suit and 
then have ridden away repulsed, yet not seriously 
dejected. Most royal marriages are made either to 
secure the succession to a throne by a legitimate line 
of heirs or else to unite adjoining states and make a 
powerful kingdom out of two that are less powerful. 
But, as a rule, kings have found greater delight in 
some sheltered bower remote from courts than in 
the castled halls and well-cared-for nooks where 
their own wives and children have been reared with 
all the appurtenances of legitimacy. 

39 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

There are not many stories that hang persistently 
about the love-making of a single woman. In the 
case of one or another we may find an episode or 
two — something dashing, something spirited or 
striking, something brilliant and exhilarating, or 
something sad. But for a woman's whole life to be 
spent in courtship that meant nothing and that was 
only a clever aid to diplomacy — this is surely an 
unusual and really wonderful thing. 

It is the more unusual because the woman herself 
was not intended by nature to be wasted upon the 
cold and cheerless sport of chancellors and counselors 
and men who had no thought of her except to use 
her as a pawn. She was hot-blooded, descended 
from a fiery race, and one whose temper was quick 
to leap into the passion of a man. 

In studying this phase of the long and interesting 
life of Elizabeth of England we must notice several 
important facts. In the first place, she gave her- 
self, above all else, to the maintenance of England — 
not an England that would be half Spanish or half 
French, or even partly Dutch and Flemish, but the 
Merry England of tradition — the England that was 
one and undivided, with its growing freedom of 
thought, its bows and bills, its nut-brown ale, its 
sturdy yeomen, and its loyalty to crown and Parlia- 
ment. She once said, almost as in an agony: 

"I love England more than anything!" 

And one may really hold that this was true. For 
England she schemed and planned. For England 
she gave up many of her royal rights. For England 
she descended into depths of treachery. For Eng- 
land she left herself on record as an arrant liar, false, 
perjured, yet successful; and because of her success 
for England's sake her countrymen will hold her 

40 




QUEEN ELIZABETH 



QUEEN ELIZABETH AND LEICESTER 

in high remembrance, since her scheming and her 
falsehood are the offenses that one pardons most 
readily in a woman. 

In the second place, it must be remembered that 
Elizabeth's courtships and pretended love-makings 
were almost always a part of her diplomacy. When 
not a part of her diplomacy they were a mere ap- 
pendage to her vanity. To seem to be the flower of 
the English people, and to be surrounded by the 
noblest, the bravest, and the most handsome cav- 
aliers, not only of her own kingdom, but of others — 
this was, indeed, a choice morsel of which she was 
fond of tasting, even though it meant nothing be- 
yond the moment. 

Finally, though at times she could be very cold, 
and though she made herself still colder in order 
that she might play fast and loose with foreign 
suitors who played fast and loose with her — the 
King of Spain, the Due d'Alengon, brother of the 
French king, with an Austrian archduke, with a 
magnificent barbarian prince of Muscovy, with Eric 
of Sweden, or any other Scandinavian suitor — she 
felt a woman's need for some nearer and more ten- 
der association to which she might give freer play 
and in which she might feel those deeper emotions 
without the danger that arises when love is mingled 
with diplomacy. 

Let us first consider a picture of the woman as she 
really was in order that we may understand her 
triple nature — consummate mistress of every art 
that statesmen know, and using at every moment her 
person as a lure; a vainglorious queen who seemed 
to be the prey of boundless vanity; and, lastly, a 
woman who had all a woman's passion, and who 
could cast suddenly aside the check and balance 
4 41 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

which restrained her before the public gaze and could 
allow herself to give full play to the emotion that she 
inherited from the king, her father, who was him- 
self a marvel of fire and impetuosity. That the 
daughter of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn should be 
a gentle, timid maiden would be to make heredity 
a farce. 

Elizabeth was about twenty-five years of age 
when she ascended the throne of England. It is 
odd that the date of her birth cannot be given with 
precision. The intrigues and disturbances of the 
English court, and the fact that she was a princess, 
made her birth a matter of less account than if there 
had been no male heir to the throne. At any rate, 
when she ascended it, after the deaths of her brother, 
King Edward VI., and her sister, Queen Mary, she 
was a woman well trained both in intellect and in 
physical development. 

Mr. Martin Hume, who loves to dwell upon the 
later years of Queen Elizabeth, speaks rather bit- 
terly of her as a " painted old harridan"; and such 
she may well have seemed when, at nearly seventy 
years of age, she leered and grinned a sort of skeleton 
smile at the handsome young courtiers who pretended 
to see in her the queen of beauty and to be dying 
for love of her. 

Yet, in her earlier years, when she was^young an d 
strong and impetuous, she deserved far different 
words than these. The portrait of her by Zucchero, 
which now hangs in Hampton Court, depicts her 
when she must have been of more than middle age; 
and still the face is one of beauty, though it be a 
strange and almost artificial beauty — one that 
draws, attracts, and, perhaps, lures you on against 
your will. 

42 






QUEEN ELIZABETH AND LEICESTER 

It is interesting to compare this painting with the 
frank word-picture of a certain German agent who 
was sent to England by his emperor, and who seems 
to have been greatly fascinated by Queen Elizabeth. 
She was at that time in the prime of her beauty and 
her power. Her complexion was of that peculiar 
transparency which is seen only in the face of 
golden blondes. Her figure was fine and graceful, 
and her wit an accomplishment that would have 
made a woman of any rank or time remarkable. The 
German envoy says: 

She lives a life of such magnificence and feasting as can 
hardly be imagined, and occupies a great portion of her time 
with balls, banquets, hunting, and similar amusements, with 
the utmost possible display, but nevertheless she insists upon 
far greater respect being shown her than was exacted by Queen 
Mary. She summons Parliament, but lets them know that 
her orders must be obeyed in any case. 

If any one will look at the painting by Zucchero 
he will see how much is made of Elizabeth's hands — • 
a distinctive feature quite as noble with the Tudors 
as is the "Hapsburg lip" among the descendants of 
the house of Austria. These were ungloved, and 
were very long and white, and she looked at them 
and played with them a great deal; and, indeed, 
they justified the admiration with which they were 
regarded by her flatterers. 

Such was the personal appearance of Elizabeth. 
When a young girl, we have still more favorable 
opinions of her that were written by those who had 
occasion to be near her and to watch her carefully. 
Not only do they record swift, rapid glimpses of her 
person, but sometimes in a word or two they give 
an insight into certain traits of mind which came 
out prominently in her later years. 

43 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

It may, perhaps, be well to view her as a woman 
before we regard her more fully as a queen. It has 
been said that Elizabeth inherited many of the traits 
of her father — the boldness of spirit, the rapidity of 
decision, and, at the same time, the fox-like craft 
which often showed itself when it was least expected. 

Henry had also, as is well known, a love of the 
other sex, which has made his reign memorable. 
And yet it must be noted that while he loved much, 
it was not loose love. Many a king of England, from 
Henry II. to Charles II., has offended far more than 
Henry VIII. Where Henry loved, he married; and 
it was the unfortunate result of these royal marriages 
that has made him seem unduly fond of women. If, 
however, we examine each one of the separate es- 
pousals we shall find that he did not enter into it 
lightly, and that he broke it off unwillingly. His 
ardent temperament, therefore, was checked by a 
certain rational or conventional propriety, so that 
he was by no means a loose liver, as many would 
make him out to be. 

We must remember this when we recall the charges 
that have been made against Elizabeth, and the 
strange stories that were told of her tricks — by no 
means seemly tricks — which she used to play with 
her guardian, Lord Thomas Seymour. The antics 
she performed with him in her dressing-room were 
made the subject of an official inquiry; yet it came 
out that while Elizabeth was less than sixteen, and 
Lord Thomas was very much her senior, his wife 
was with him on his visits to the chamber of the 
princess. 

Sir Robert Tyrwhitt and his wife were also sent 
to question her. Tyrwhitt had a keen mind and 
one well trained to cope with any other's wit in this 

44 



QUEEN ELIZABETH AND LEICESTER 

sort of cross-examination. Elizabeth was only a 
girl of fifteen, yet she was a match for the accom- 
plished courtier in diplomacy and quick retort. He 
was sent down to worm out of her everything that 
she knew. Threats and flattery and forged letters 
and false confessions were tried on her; but they 
were tried in vain. She would tell nothing of im- 
portance. She denied everything. She sulked, she 
cried, she availed herself of a woman's favorite 
defense in suddenly attacking those who had at- 
tacked her. She brought counter charges against 
Tyrwhitt, and put her enemies on their own defense. 
Not a compromising word could they wring out of 
her. 

She bitterly complained of the imprisonment of 
her governess, Mrs. Ashley, and cried out : 

"I have not so behaved that you need put more 
mistresses upon me!" 

Altogether, she was too much for Sir Robert, and 
he was wise enough to recognize her cleverness. 

"She hath a very good wit," said he, shrewdly; 
"and nothing is to be gotten of her except by great 
policy. ' ' And he added : "If I had to say my fancy, 
I think it more meet that she should have two 
governesses than one." 

Mr. Hume notes the fact that after the two ser- 
vants of the princess had been examined and had 
told nothing very serious they found that they had 
been wise in remaining friends of the royal girl. 
No sooner had Elizabeth become queen than she 
knighted the man Parry and made him treasurer 
of the household, while Mrs. Ashley, the governess, 
was treated with great consideration. Thus, very 
naturally, Mr. Hume says: "They had probably 
kept back far more than they told." 

45 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Even Tyrwhitt believed that there was a secret 
compact between them, for he said, quaintly : ' 'They 
all sing one song, and she hath set the note for 
them." 

Soon after this her brother Edward's death 
brought to the throne her elder sister, Mary, who 
has harshly become known as Bloody Mary. During 
this time Elizabeth put aside her boldness, and be- 
came apparently a shy and simple-minded virgin. 
Surrounded on every side by those who sought to 
trap her, there was nothing in her bearing to make 
her seem the head of a party or the young chief of 
a faction. Nothing could exceed her in meekness. 
She spoke of her sister in the humblest terms. She 
exhibited no signs of the Tudor animation that was 
in reality so strong a part of her character. 

But, coming to the throne, she threw away her 
modesty and brawled and rioted with very little 
self-restraint. The people as a whole found little 
fault with her. She reminded them of her father, 
the bluff King Hal; and even those who criticized 
her did so only partially. They thought much bet- 
ter of her than they had of her saturnine sister, the 
first Queen Mary. 

The life of Elizabeth has been very oddly misun- 
derstood, not so much for the facts in it as for the 
manner in which these have been arranged and the 
relation which they have to one another. We ought 
to recollect that this woman did not live in a re- 
stricted sphere, that her life was not a short one, 
and that it was crowded with incidents and full of 
vivid color. Some think of her as living for a short 
period of time and speak of the great historical 
characters who surrounded her as belonging to a 
single epoch. To them she has one set of suitors all 

46 






QUEEN ELIZABETH AND LEICESTER 

the time — the Due d'Alencon, the King of Den- 
mark's brother, the Prince of Sweden, the Russian 
potentate, the archduke sending her sweet messages 
from Austria, the melancholy King of Spain, to- 
gether with a number of her own brilliant English- 
men — Sir William Pickering, Sir Robert Dudley, 
Lord Darnley, the Earl of Essex, Sir Philip Sidney, 
and Sir Walter Raleigh. 

Of course, as a matter of fact, Elizabeth lived for 
nearly seventy years — almost three-quarters of a 
century — and in that long time there came and went 
both men and women, those whom she had used 
and cast aside, with others whom she had also 
treated with gratitude, and who had died gladly 
serving her. But through it all there was a con- 
tinual change in her environment, though not in her. 
The young soldier went to the battle-field and died; 
the wise counselor gave her his advice, and she 
either took it or cared nothing for it. She herself 
was a curious blending of forwardness and folly, of 
wisdom and wantonness, of frivolity and unbridled 
fancy. But through it all she loved her people, even 
though she often cheated them and made them pay 
her taxes in the harsh old way that prevailed before 
there was any right save the king's will. 

At the same time, this was only by fits and starts, 
and on the whole she served them well. Therefore, 
to most of them she was always the good Queen 
Bess. What mattered it to the ditcher and yeoman, 
far from the court, that the queen was said to dance 
in her nightdress and to swear like a trooper? 

It was, indeed, largely from these rustic sources 
that such stories were scattered throughout England. 
Peasants thought them picturesque. More to the 
point with them were peace and prosperity through- 

47 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

out the country, the fact that law was administered 
with honesty and justice, and that England was 
safe from her deadly enemies — the swarthy Span- 
iards and the scheming French. 

But, as I said, we must remember always that the 
Elizabeth of one period was not the Elizabeth of 
another, and that the England of one period was 
not the England of another. As one thinks of it, 
there is something wonderful in the almost star-like 
way in which this girl flitted unharmed through a 
thousand perils. Her own countrymen were at first 
divided against her; a score of greedy, avaricious 
suitors sought her destruction, or at least her hand 
to lead her to destruction; all the great powers of 
the Continent were either demanding an alliance 
with England or threatening to dash England down 
amid their own dissensions. 

What had this girl to play of! against such dan- 
gers? Only an undaunted spirit, a scheming mind 
that knew no scruples, and finally her own person 
and the fact that she was a woman, and, therefore, 
might give herself in marriage and become the 
mother of a race of kings. 

It was this last weapon, the weapon of her sex, 
that proved, perhaps, the most powerful of all. By 
promising a marriage or by denying it, or by neither 
promising nor denying but withholding it, she gave 
forth a thousand wily intimations which kept those 
who surrounded her at bay until she had made still 
another deft and skilful combination, escaping like 
some startled creature to a new place of safety. 

In 1583, when she was fifty years of age, she had 
reached a point when her courtships and her pre- 
tended love-making were no longer necessary. She 
had played Sweden against Denmark, and France 



QUEEN ELIZABETH AND LEICESTER 

against Spain, and the Austrian archduke against the 
others, and many suitors in her own land against 
the different factions which they headed. She might 
have sat herself down to rest ; for she could feel that 
her wisdom had led her up into a high place, whence 
she might look down in peace and with assurance 
of the tranquillity that she had won. Not yet had 
the Great Armada rolled and thundered toward 
the English shores. But she was certain that her 
land was secure, compact, and safe. 

It remains to see what were those amatory rela- 
tions which she may be said to have* sincerely held. 
She had played at love-making with foreign princes, 
because it was wise and, for the moment, best. She 
had played with Englishmen of rank who aspired to 
her hand, because in that way she might conciliate, 
at one time her Catholic and at another her Prot- 
estant subjects. But what of the real and inward 
feeling of her heart, when she was not thinking of 
politics or the necessities of state? 

This is an interesting question. One may at least 
seek the answer, hoping thereby to solve one of the 
most interesting phases of this perplexing and most 
remarkable woman. 

It must be remembered that it was not a question 
of whether Elizabeth desired marriage. She may 
have done so as involving a brilliant stroke of policy. 
In this sense she may have wished to marry one of 
the two French princes who were among her suitors. 
But even here she hesitated, and her Parliament dis- 
approved; for by this time England had become 
largely Protestant. Again, had she married a 
French prince and had children, England might 
have become an appanage of France. 

There is no particular evidence that she had any 

49 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

feeling at all for her Flemish, Austrian, or Russian 
suitors, while the Swede's pretensions were the 
laughing-stock of the English court. So we may 
set aside this question of marriage as having noth- 
ing to do with her emotional life. She did desire a 
son, as was shown by her passionate outcry when 
she compared herself with Mary of Scotland. 

"The Queen of Scots has a bonny son, while I 
am but a barren stock!" 

She was too wise to wed a subject; though had 
she married at all, her choice would doubtless have 
been an Englishman. In this respect, as in so many 
others, she was like her father, who chose his numer- 
ous wives, with the exception of the first, from among 
the English ladies of the court; just as the showy 
Edward IV. was happy in marrying "Dame Eliza- 
beth Woodville." But what a king may do is by 
no means so easy for a queen; and a husband is 
almost certain to assume an authority which makes 
him unpopular with the subjects of his wife. 

Hence, as said above, we must consider not so 
much whom she would have liked to marry, but 
rather to whom her love went out spontaneously, 
and not as a part of that amatory play which amused 
her from the time when she frisked with Seymour 
down to the very last days, when she could no 
longer move about, but when she still dabbled her 
cheeks with rouge and. powder and set her skeleton 
face amid a forest of ruffs. 

There were many whom she cared for after a 
fashion. She would not let Sir Walter Raleigh 
visit her American colonies, because she could not 
bear to have him so long away from her. She had 
great moments of passion for the Earl of Essex, 
though in the end she signed his death-warrant be- 

So 



QUEEN ELIZABETH AND LEICESTER 

cause he was as dominant in spirit as the queen 
herself. 

Readers of Sir Walter Scott's wonderfully pic- 
turesque novel, Kenilworik, will note how he throws 
the strongest light upon Elizabeth's affection for 
Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. Scott's historical 
instinct is united here with a vein of psychology 
which goes deeper than is usual with him. We see 
Elizabeth trying hard to share her favor equally 
between two nobles; but the Earl of Essex fails to 
please her because he lacked those exquisite manners 
which made Leicester so great a favorite with the 
fastidious queen. 

Then, too, the story of Leicester's marriage with 
Amy Robsart is something more than a myth, based 
upon an obscure legend and an ancient ballad. The 
earl had had such a wife, and there were sinister 
stories about the manner of her death. But it is 
Scott who invents the villainous Varney and the 
bulldog Anthony Foster; just as he brought the whole 
episode into the foreground and made it occur at a 
period much later than was historically true. Still, 
Scott felt — and he was imbued with the spirit and 
knowledge of that time — a strong conviction that 
Elizabeth loved Leicester as she really loved no one 
else. 

There is one interesting fact which goes far to 
convince us. Just as her father was, in a way, polyg- 
amous, so Elizabeth was even more truly polyan- 
drous. It was inevitable that she should surround 
herself with attractive men, whose love-locks she 
would caress and whose flatteries she would greedily 
accept. To the outward eye there was very little 
difference in her treatment of the handsome and 
daring nobles of her court; yet a historian of her 

5i 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

time makes one very shrewd remark when he says: 
''To every one she gave some power at times — to 
all save Leicester." 

Cecil and Walsingham in counsel and Essex and 
Raleigh in the field might have their own way at 
times, and even share the sovereign's power, but 
to Leicester she intrusted no high commands and 
no important mission. Why so ? Simply because she 
loved him more than any of the rest; and, knowing 
this, she knew that if besides her love she granted 
him any measure of control or power, then she would 
be but half a queen and would be led either to marry 
him or else to let him sway her as he would. 

For the reason given, one may say with confi- 
dence that, while Elizabeth's light loves were fleet- 
ing, she gave a deep affection to this handsome, 
bold, and brilliant Englishman and cherished him 
in a far different way from any of the others. This 
was as near as she ever came to marriage, and it 
was this love at least which makes Shakespeare's 
famous line as false as it is beautiful, when he de- 
scribes "the imperial votaress" as passing by "in 
maiden meditation, fancy free." 



MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS AND 
LORD BOTHWELL 



MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS AND LORD 
BOTHWELL 



MARY STUART and Cleopatra are the two 
women who have most attracted the fancy of 
poets, dramatists, novelists, and painters, from their 
own time down to the present day. 

In some respects there is a certain likeness in 
their careers. Each was queen of a nation whose 
affairs were entangled with those of a much greater 
one. Each sought for her own ideal of love until 
she found it. Each won that love recklessly, almost 
madly. Each, in its attainment, fell from power 
and fortune. Each died before her natural life was 
ended. One caused the man she loved to cast away 
the sovereignty of a mighty state. The other lost 
her own crown in order that she might achieve the 
whole desire of her heart. 

There is still another parallel which may be found. 
Each of these women was reputed to be exquisitely 
beautiful; yet each fell short of beauty's highest 
standards. They are alike remembered in song and 
story because of qualities that are far more power- 
ful than any physical charm can be. They impressed 
the imagination of their own contemporaries just as 
they had impressed the imagination of all succeeding 
ages, by reason of a strange and irresistible fascina- 

55 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

tion which no one could explain, but which very few 
could experience and resist. 

Mary Stuart was born six days before her father's 
death, and when the kingdom which was her heri- 
tage seemed to be almost in its death-throes. James 
V. of Scotland, half Stuart and half Tudor, was no 
ordinary monarch. While yet a mere boy he had 
burst the bonds with which a regency had bound 
him, and he had ruled sternly the wild Scotland of 
the sixteenth century. He was brave and crafty, 
keen in statesmanship, and dissolute in pleasure. 

His first wife had given him no heirs; so at her 
death he sought out a princess whom he pursued 
all the more ardently because she was also courted 
by the burly Henry VIII. of England. This girl was 
Marie of Lorraine, daughter of the Due de Guise. 
She was fit to be the mother of a lion's brood, for 
she was above six feet in height and of propor- 
tions so ample as to excite the admiration of the 
royal voluptuary who sat upon the throne of Eng- 
land. 

"I am big," said he, "and I want a wife who is 
as big as I am." 

But James of Scotland wooed in person, and not 
by embassies, and he triumphantly carried off his 
strapping princess. Henry of England gnawed his 
beard in vain; and, though in time he found conso- 
lation in another woman's arms, he viewed James 
not only as a public but as a private enemy. 

There was war between the two countries. First 
the Scots repelled an English army; but soon they 
were themselves disgracefully defeated at Solway 
Moss by a force much their inferior in numbers. 
The shame of it broke King James's heart. As he 
was galloping from the battle-field the news was 

56 



MARY STUART AND BOTHWELL 

brought him that his wife had given birth to a daugh- 
ter. He took little notice of the message; and in a 
few days he had died, moaning with his last breath 
the mysterious words: 

"It came with a lass — with a lass it will go!" 
The child who was born at this ill-omened crisis 
was Mary Stuart, who within a week became, in her 
own right, Queen of Scotland. Her mother acted 
as regent of the kingdom. Henry of England de- 
manded that the infant girl should be betrothed to 
his young son, Prince Edward, who afterward 
reigned as Edward VI., though he died while still a 
boy. The proposal was rejected, and the war be- 
tween England and Scotland went on its bloody 
course; but meanwhile the little queen was sent to 
France, her mother's home, so that she might be 
trained in accomplishments which were rare in Scot- 
land. 

In France she grew up at the court of Catherine 
de' Medici, that imperious intriguer whose splendid 
surroundings were tainted with the corruption which 
she had brought from her native Italy. It was, in- 
deed, a singular training-school for a girl of Mary 
Stuart's character. She saw about her a superficial 
chivalry and a most profound depravity. Poets like 
Ronsard graced the life of the court with exquisite 
verse. Troubadours and minstrels sang sweet music 
there. There were fetes and tournaments and gal- 
lantry of bearing; yet, on the other hand, there 
was every possible refinement and variety of vice. 
Men were slain before the eyes of the queen herself. 
The talk of the court was of intrigue and lust and 
evil things which often verged on crime. Catherine 
de' Medici herself kept her nominal husband at arm's- 
length ; and in order to maintain her grasp on France 
5 57 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

she connived at the corruption of her own children, 
three of whom were destined in their turn to sit upon 
the throne. 

Mary Stuart grew up in these surroundings until 
she was sixteen, eating the fruit which gave a knowl- 
edge of both good and evil. Her intelligence was 
very great. She quickly learned Italian, French, 
and Latin. She was a daring horsewoman. She was 
a poet and an artist even in her teens. She was 
also a keen judge of human motives, for those early 
years of hers had forced her into a womanhood that 
was premature but wonderful. It had been pro- 
posed that she should marry the eldest son of Cath- 
erine, so that in time the kingdom of Scotland and 
that of France might be united, while if Elizabeth 
of England were to die unmarried her realm also 
would fall to this pair of children. 

And so Mary, at sixteen, wedded the Dauphin 
Francis, who was a year her junior. The prince was 
a wretched, whimpering little creature, with a cank- 
ered body and a blighted soul. Marriage with such 
a husband seemed absurd. It never was a marriage 
in reality. The sickly child would cry all night, for 
he suffered from abscesses in his ears, and his man- 
hood had been prematurely taken from him. Never- 
theless, within a twelvemonth the French king died 
and Mary Stuart was Queen of France as well as 
of Scotland, hampered only by her nominal obedi- 
ence to the sick boy whom she openly despised. At 
seventeen she showed herself a master spirit. She 
held her own against the ambitious Catherine de' 
Medici, whom she contemptuously nicknamed "the 
apothecary's daughter." For the brief period of a 
year she was actually the ruler of France; but then 
her husband died and she was left a widow, restless, 

58 



MARY STUART AND BOTHWELL 

ambitious, and yet no longer having any of tjie 
power she loved. 

Mary Stuart at this time had become a woman 
whose fascination was exerted over all who knew 
her. She was very tall and very slim, with chestnut 
hair, "like a flower of the heat, both lax and deli- 
cate." Her skin was fair and pale, so clear and so 
transparent as to make the story plausible that when 
she drank from a flask of wine, the red liquid could 
be seen passing down her slender throat. 

Yet with all this she was not fine in texture, but 
hardy as a man. She could endure immense fatigue 
without yielding to it. Her supple form had the 
strength of steel. There was a gleam in her hazel 
eyes that showed her to be brimful of an almost 
fierce vitality. Young as she was, she was the 
mistress of a thousand arts, and she exaled a sort 
of atmosphere that turned the heads of men. The 
Stuart blood made her impatient of control, care- 
less of state, and easy-mannered. The French and 
the Tudor strain gave her vivacity. She could be 
submissive in appearance while still persisting in her 
aims. She could be languorous and seductive while 
cold within. Again, she could assume the haughti- 
ness which belonged to one who was twice a queen. 

Two motives swayed her, and they fought to- 
gether for supremacy. One was the love of power, 
and the other was the love of love. The first was 
natural to a girl who was a sovereign in her own 
right. The second was inherited, and was then 
forced into a rank luxuriance by the sort of life that 
she had seen about her. At eighteen she was a 
strangely amorous creature, given to fondling and 
kissing every one about her, with slight discrimina- 
tion. From her sense of touch she received emotions 

59 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

that were almost necessary to her existence. With 
her slender, graceful hands she was always stroking 
the face of some favorite — it might be only the face 
of a child, or it might be the face of some courtier 
or poet, or one of the four Marys whose names are 
linked with hers — Mary Livingstone, Mary Fleming, 
Mary Beaton, and Mary Seton, the last of whom 
remained with her royal mistress until her death. 

But one must not be too censorious in thinking 
of Mary Stuart. She was surrounded everywhere 
by enemies. During her stay in France she was 
hated by the faction of Catherine de' Medici. When 
she returned to Scotland she was hated because 
of her religion by the Protestant lords. Her 
every action was set forth in the worst possible 
light. The most sinister meaning was given to 
everything she said or did. In truth, we must re- 
ject almost all the stories which accuse her of any- 
thing more than a certain levity of conduct. 

She was not a woman to yield herself in love's 
last surrender unless her intellect and heart alike 
had been made captive. She would listen to the 
passionate outpourings of poets and courtiers, and she 
would plunge her eyes into theirs, and let her hair 
just touch their faces, and give them her white hands 
to kiss — but that was all. Even in this she was only 
following the fashion of the court where she was bred, 
and she was not unlike her royal relative, Elizabeth 
of England, who had the same external amorousness 
coupled with the same internal self-control. 

Mary Stuart's love life makes a piteous story, 
for it is the life of one who was ever seeking — 
seeking for the man to whom she could look up, 
who could be strong and brave and ardent like her- 
self, and at the same time be more powerful and more 

60 



MARY STUART AND BOTHWELL 

steadfast even than she herself in mind and thought. 
Whatever may be said of her, and howsoever the 
facts may be colored by partisans, this royal girl, 
stung though she was by passion and goaded by 
desire, cared nothing for any man who could not 
match her in body and mind and spirit all at once. 

It was in her early widowhood that she first met 
the man, though it was long before the two were 
actually united; and when their union came it 
brought ruin on them both. In France there came 
to her one day one of her own subjects, the Earl 
of Both well. He was but a few years older than she, 
and in his presence for the first time she felt, in her 
own despite, that profoundly moving, indescribable, 
and never-to-be-forgotten thrill which shakes a wom- 
an to the very center of her being, since it is the 
recognition of a complete affinity. 

Lord Bothwell, like Queen Mary, has been ter- 
ribly maligned. Unlike her, he has found only a 
few defenders. Maurice Hewlett has drawn a pic- 
ture of him more favorable than many, and yet it 
is a picture that repels. Bothwell, says he, was of 
a type esteemed by those who pronounced vice to 
be their virtue. He was "a galliard, flushed with 
rich blood, broad-shouldered, square- jawed, with a 
laugh so happy and so prompt that the world, re- 
joicing to hear it, thought all must be well wherever 
he might be. He wore brave clothes, sat a brave 
horse, and kept brave company bravely. His high 
color, while it betokened high feeding, got him the 
credit of good health. His little eyes twinkled so 
merrily that you did not see they were like a pig's, 
sly and greedy at once, and bloodshot. His tawny 
beard concealed a jaw underhung, a chin jutting 
and dangerous. His mouth had a cruel twist; but 

61 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

his laughing hid that too. The bridge of his nose 
had been broken; few observed it, or guessed at the 
brawl which must have given it to him. Frankness 
was his great charm, careless ease in high places." 

And so, when Mary Stuart first met him in her 
eighteenth year, Lord Bothwell made her think as 
she had never thought of any other man, and as 
she was not to think of any other man again. She 
grew to look eagerly for the frank mockery "in 
those twinkling eyes, in that quick mouth"; and to 
wonder whether it was with him always — asleep, at 
prayers, fighting, furious, or in love. 

Something more, however, must be said of Both- 
well. He was undoubtedly a roisterer, but he was 
very much a man. He made easy love to women. 
His sword leaped quickly from its sheath. He could 
fight, and he could also think. He was no brawling 
ruffian, no ordinary rake. Remembering what Scot- 
land was in those days, Bothwell might well seem 
in reality a princely figure. He knew Italian; he 
was at home in French; he could write fluent Latin. 
He was a collector of books and a reader of them 
also. He was perhaps the only Scottish noble of 
his time who had a book-plate of his own. Here 
is something more than a mere reveler. Here is a 
man of varied accomplishments and of a complex 
character. 

Though he stayed but a short time near the queen 
in France, he kindled her imagination, so that when 
she seriously thought of men she thought of Both- 
well. And yet all the time she w T as fondling the 
young pages in her retinue and kissing her maids 
of honor with her scarlet lips, and lying on their 
knees, while poets like Ronsard and Chastelard 
wrote ardent love sonnets to her and sighed and 

62 






MARY STUART AND BOTHWELL 

pined for something more than the privilege of kiss- 
ing her two dainty hands. 

In 1561, less than a year after her widowhood, 
Mary set sail for Scotland, never to return. The 
great high-decked ships which escorted her sailed 
into the harbor of Leith, and she pressed on to Edin- 
burgh. A depressing change indeed from the sunny 
terraces and fields of France! In her own realm 
were fog and rain and only a hut to shelter her upon 
her landing. When she reached her capital there 
were few welcoming cheers; but as she rode over 
the cobblestones to Holyrood, the squalid wynds 
vomited forth great mobs of hard-featured, grim- 
visaged men and women who stared with curiosity 
and a half-contempt at the girl queen and her retinue 
of foreigners. 

The Scots were Protestants of the most dour sort, 
and they distrusted their new ruler because of her 
religion and because she loved to surround herself 
with dainty things and bright colors and exotic ele- 
gance. They feared lest she should try to repeal 
the law of Scotland's Parliament which had made 
the country Protestant. 

The very indifference of her subjects stirred up 
the nobler part of Mary's nature. For a time she 
was indeed a queen. She governed wisely. She re- 
spected the religious rights of her Protestant sub- 
jects. She strove to bring order out of the chaos 
into which her country had fallen. And she met 
with some success. The time came when her people 
cheered her as she rode among them. Her subtle 
fascination was her greatest source of strength. 
Even John Knox, that iron-visaged, stentorian 
preacher, fell for a time under the charm of her pres- 
ence. She met him frankly and pleaded with him 

63 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

as a woman, instead of commanding him as a queen. 
The surly ranter became softened for a time, and, 
though he spoke of her to others as " Honey pot," 
he ruled his tongue in public. She had offers of 
marriage from Austrian and Spanish princes. The 
new King of France, her brother-in-law, would per- 
haps have wedded her. It mattered little to Mary 
that Elizabeth of England was hostile. She felt 
that she was strong enough to hold her own and 
govern Scotland. 

But who could govern a country such as Scotland 
was? It was a land of broils and feuds, of clan en- 
mities and fierce vendettas. Its nobles were half 
barbarous, and they fought and slashed at one an- 
other with drawn dirks almost in the presence of 
the queen herself. No matter whom she favored, 
there rose up a swarm of enemies. Here was a Cor- 
sica of the north, more savage and untamed than 
even the other Corsica. 

In her perplexity Mary felt a woman's need of 
some man on whom she would have the right to 
lean, and whom she could make king consort. She 
thought that she had found him in the person of 
her cousin, Lord Darnley, a Catholic, and by his 
upbringing half an Englishman. Darnley came to 
Scotland, and for the moment Mary fancied that 
she had forgotten Both well. Here again she was 
in love with love, and she idealized the man who 
came to give it to her. Darnley seemed, indeed, 
well worthy to be loved, for he was tall and hand- 
some, appearing well on horseback and having some 
of the accomplishments which Mary valued. 

It was a hasty wooing, and the queen herself was 
first of all the wooer. Her quick imagination saw 
in Darnley traits and gifts of which he reallv had 

64 



MARY STUART AND BOTHWELL 

no share. Therefore, the marriage was soon con- 
cluded, and Scotland had two sovereigns, King 
Henry and Queen Mary. So sure was Mary of her 
indifference to Both well that she urged the earl to 
marry, and he did marry a girl of the great house 
of Gordon. 

Mary's self-suggested love for Darnley was ex- 
tinguished almost on her wedding-night. The man 
was a drunkard who came into her presence be- 
fuddled and almost bestial. He had no brains. His 
vanity was enormous. He loved no one but him- 
self, and least of all this queen, whom he re- 
garded as having thrown herself at his empty 
head. 

The first-fruits of the marriage were uprisings 
among the Protestant lords. Mary then showed 
herself a heroic queen. At the head of a motley 
band of soldiery who came at her call — half -clad, 
uncouth, and savage — she rode into the west, sleep- 
ing at night upon the bare ground, sharing the camp 
food, dressed in plain tartan, but swift and fierce 
as any eagle. Her spirit ran like fire through the 
veins of those who followed her. She crushed the 
insurrection, scattered its leaders, and returned in 
triumph to her capital. 

Now she was really queen, but here came in the 
other motive which was interwoven in her character. 
She had shown herself a man in courage. Should 
she not have the pleasures of a woman? To her 
court in Holyrood came Bothwell once again, and 
this time Mary knew that he was all the world to 
her. Darnley had shrunk from the hardships of 
battle. He was steeped in low intrigues. He roused 
the constant irritation of the queen by his folly and 
Utter lack of sense and decency. Mary felt she owed 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

him nothing, but she forgot that she owed much to 
herself. 

Her old amorous ways came back to her, and she 
relapsed into the joys of sense. The scandal-mongers 
of the capital saw a lover in every man with whom 
she talked. She did, in fact, set convention at de- 
fiance. She dressed in men's clothing. She showed 
what the unemotional Scots thought to be unseemly 
levity. The French poet, Chastelard, misled by her 
external signs of favor, believed himself to be her 
choice. At the end of one mad revel he was found 
secreted beneath her bed, and was driven out by 
force. A second time he ventured to secrete him- 
self within the covers of the bed. Then he was 
dragged forth, imprisoned, and condemned to death. 
He met his fate without a murmur, save at the last 
when he stood upon the scaffold and, gazing toward 
the palace, cried in French: 

"Oh, cruel queen! I die for you!" 

Another favorite, the Italian, David Rizzio, or 
Riccio, in like manner wrote love verses to the 
queen, and she replied to them in kind; but there 
is no evidence that she valued him save for his 
ability, which was very great. She made him her 
foreign secretary, and the man whom he supplanted 
worked on the jealousy of Darnley; so that one 
night, while Mary and Rizzio were at dinner in a 
small private chamber, Darnley and the others 
broke in upon her. Darnley held her by the waist 
while Rizzio was stabbed before her eyes with a 
cruelty the greater because the queen was soon to 
become a mother. 

From that moment she hated Darnley as one 
would hate a snake. She tolerated him only that 
he might acknowledge her child as his son. This 

66 



MARY STUART AND BOTHWELL 

child was the future James VI. of Scotland and James 
I. of England. It is recorded of him that never 
throughout his life could he bear to look upon 
drawn steel. 

After this Mary summoned Bothwell again and 
again. It was revealed to her as in a blaze of light 
that, after all, he was the one and only man who 
could be everything to her. His frankness, his cyn- 
icism, his mockery, his carelessness, his courage, 
and the power of his mind matched her moods 
completely. She threw away all semblance of con- 
cealment. She ignored the fact that he had married 
at her wish. She was queen. She desired him. 
She must have him at any cost. 

"Though I lose Scotland and England both," she 
cried in a passion of abandonment, "I shall have 
him for my own!" 

Bothwell, in his turn, was nothing loath, and they 
leaped at each other like two flames. 

It was then that Mary wrote those letters which 
were afterward discovered in a casket and which 
were used against her when she was on trial for her 
life. These so-called Casket Letters, though we 
have not now the originals, are among the most 
extraordinary letters ever written. All shame, all 
hesitation, all innocence, are flung away in them. 
The writer is so fired with passion that each sen- 
tence is like a cry to a lover in the dark. As De 
Peyster says: "In them the animal instincts over- 
ride and spur and lash the pen." Mary was com- 
mitting to paper the frenzied madness of a woman 
consumed to her very marrow by the scorching 
blaze of unedurable desire. 

Events moved quickly. Darnley, convalescent 
from an attack of smallpox, was mysteriously de- 

67 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

stroyed by an explosion of gunpowder. Both well 
was divorced from his young wife on curious grounds. 
A dispensation allowed Mary to wed a Protestant, 
and she married Both well three months after Darn- 
ley's death. 

Here one sees the consummation of what had be- 
gun many years before in France. From the mo- 
ment that she and Both well met, their union was 
inevitable. Seas could not sunder them. Other 
loves and other fancies were as nothing to them. 
Even the bonds of marriage were burst asunder so 
that these two fiery, panting souls could meet. 

It was the irony of fate that when they had so 
met it was only to be parted. Mary's subjects, 
outraged by her conduct, rose against her. As she 
passed through the streets of Edinburgh the women 
hurled after her indecent names. Great banners 
were raised with execrable daubs representing the 
murdered Darnley. The short and dreadful mono- 
syllable which is familiar to us in the pages of the 
Bible was hurled after her wherever she went. 

With Both well by her side she led a wild and 
ragged horde of followers against the rebellious 
nobles, whose forces met her at Carberry Hill. Her 
motley followers melted away, and Mary surrendered 
to the hostile chieftains, who took her to the castle 
at Lochleven. There she became the mother of 
twins — a fact that is seldom mentioned by histo- 
rians. These children were the fruit of her union 
with Both well. From this time forth she cared but 
little for herself, and she signed, without great re- 
luctance, a document by which she abdicated in 
favor of her infant son. 

Even in this place of imprisonment, however, her 
fascination had power to charm. Among those who 

68 



MARY STUART AND BOTHWELL 

guarded her, two of the Douglas family — George 
Douglas and William Douglas — for love of her, ef- 
fected her escape. The first attempt failed. Mary, 
disguised as a laundress, was betrayed by the deli- 
cacy of her hands. But a second attempt was suc- 
cessful. The queen passed through a postern gate 
and made her way to the lake, where George Douglas 
met her with a boat. Crossing the lake, fifty horse- 
men under Lord Claude Hamilton gave her their 
escort and bore her away in safety. 

But Mary was sick of Scotland, for Bothwell 
could not be there. She had tasted all the bitter- 
ness of life, and for a few months all the sweetness; 
but she would have no more of this rough and bar- 
barous country. Of her own free will she crossed 
the Solway into England, to find herself at once a 
prisoner. 

Never again did she set eyes on Bothwell. After 
the battle of Carberry Hill he escaped to the north, 
gathered some ships together, and preyed upon 
English merchantmen, very much as a pirate might 
have done. Ere long, however, when he had learned 
of Mary's fate, he set sail for Norway. King Fred- 
erick of Denmark made him a prisoner of state. 
He was not confined within prison walls, however, 
but was allowed to hunt and ride in the vicinity of 
Malmo Castle and of Dragsholm. It is probably 
in Malmo Castle that he died. In 1858 a coffin 
which was thought to be the coffin of the earl was 
opened, and a Danish artist sketched the head — 
which corresponds quite well with the other por- 
traits of the ill-fated Scottish noble. 

It is a sad story. Had Mary been less ambitious 
when she first met Bothwell, or had he been a little 
bolder, they might have reigned together and lived 

69 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

out their lives in the plenitude of that great love 
which held them both in thrall. But a queen is not 
as other women; and she found too late that the 
teaching of her heart was, after all, the truest teach- 
ing. She went to her death as Bothwell went to his, 
alone, in a strange, unfriendly land. 

Yet, even this, perhaps, was better so. It has 
at least touched both their lives with pathos and 
has made the name of Mary Stuart one to be re- 
membered throughout all the ages. 



QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN 

AND THE 

MARQUIS MONALDESCHI 



QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN AND 
THE MARQUIS MONALDESCHI 

SWEDEN to-day is one of the peaceful king- 
doms of the world, whose people are prosper- 
ous, well governed, and somewhat apart ub the 
clash and turmoil of other states and nations . i^ven 
the secession of Norway, a few years ago, was accom- 
plished without bloodshed, and now the two king- 
doms exist side by side as free from strife as they 
are with Denmark, which once domineered and 
tyrannized over both. 

It is difficult to believe that long ago, in the Middle 
Ages, the cities of southern Sweden were among the 
great commercial centers of the world. Stockholm 
and Lund ranked with London and Paris. They 
absorbed the commerce of the northern seas, and 
were the admiration of thousands of travelers and 
merchants who passed through them and trafficked 
with them. 

Much nearer to our own time, Sweden was the 
great military power of northern Europe. The am- 
bassadors of the Swedish kings were received with 
the utmost deference in every court. Her soldiers 
won great battles and ended mighty wars. The 
England of Cromwell and Charles II. was unim- 
portant and isolated in comparison with this northern 
kingdom, which could pour forth armies of gigantic 
6 73 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

blond warriors, headed by generals astute as well 
as brave. 

It was no small matter, then, in 1626, that the 
loyal Swedes were hoping that their queen would 
give birth to a male heir to succeed his splendid 
father, Gustavus Adolphus, ranked by military his- 
torians as one of the six great generals whom the 
world had so far produced. The queen, a German 
princess of Brandenburg, had already borne two 
daughters, who died in infancy. The expectation 
was wide-spread and intense that she should now 
become the mother of a son; and the king himself 
was no less anxious. 

When the event occurred, the child was seen to 
be completely covered with hair, and for this reason 
the attendants at first believed that it was the de- 
sired boy. When their mistake was discovered 
they were afraid to tell the king, who was waiting 
in his study for the announcement to be made. At 
last, when no one else would go to him, his sister, 
the Princess Caroline, volunteered to break the news. 

Gustavus was in truth a chivalrous, high-bred 
monarch. Though he must have been disappointed 
at the advent of a daughter, he showed no sign of 
dissatisfaction or even of surprise; but, rising, he 
embraced his sister, saying: 

"Let us thank God. I hope this girl will be as 
good as a boy to me. May God preserve her now 
that He has sent her!" 

It is customary at almost all courts to pay less 
attention to the birth of a princess than to that of 
a prince; but Gustavus displayed his chivalry tow- 
ard this little daughter, whom he named Christina. 
He ordered that the full royal salute should be fired 
in every fortress of his kingdom and that displays 

74 



QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN 

of fireworks, balls of honor, and court functions 
should take place; "for," as he said, "this is the 
heir to my throne." And so from the first he took 
his child under his own keeping and treated her as 
if she were a much-loved son as well as a successor. 

He joked about her looks when she was born, 
when she was mistaken for a boy. 

"She will be clever," he said, "for she has taken 
us all in!" 

The Swedish people were as delighted with their 
little princess as were the people of Holland when 
the present Queen Wilhelmina was born, to carry 
on the succession of the House of Orange. On one 
occasion the king and the small Christina, who 
were inseparable companions, happened to approach 
a fortress where they expected to spend the night. 
The commander of the castle was bound to fire a 
royal salute of fifty cannon in honor of his sovereign ; 
yet he dreaded the effect upon the princess of such 
a roaring and bellowing of artillery. He therefore 
sent a swift horseman to meet the royal party at 
a distance and explain his perplexity. Should he 
fire these guns or not ? Would the king give an order ? 

Gustavus thought for a moment, and then replied: 

"My daughter is the daughter of a soldier, and 
she must learn to lead a soldier's life. Let the 
guns be fired!" 

The procession moved on. Presently fire spurted 
from the embrasures of the fort, and its batteries 
thundered in one great roar. The king looked down 
at Christina. Her face was aglow with pleasure 
and excitement; she clapped her little hands and 
laughed, and cried out: 

1 ' More bang ! More ! More !" 

This is only one of a score of stories that were 

75 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

circulated about the princess, and the Swedes were 
more and more delighted with the girl who was to 
be their queen. 

Somewhat curiously, Christina's mother, Queen 
Maria, cared little for the child, and, in fact, came 
at last to detest her almost as much as the king 
loved her. It is hard to explain this dislike. Per- 
haps she had a morbid desire for a son and begrudged 
the honors given to a daughter. Perhaps she was 
a little jealous of her own child, who took so much 
of the king's attention. Afterward, in writing of 
her mother, Christina excuses her, and says quite 
frankly : 

She could not bear to see me, because I was a girl, and an 
ugly girl at that. And she was right enough, for I was as tawny 
as a little Turk. 

This candid description of herself is hardly just. 
Christina was never beautiful, and she had a strong, 
harsh voice. She was apt to be overbearing even 
as a little girl. Yet she was a most interesting child, 
with an expressive face, large eyes, an aquiline nose, 
and the blond hair of her people. There was nothing 
in this to account for her mother's intense dislike for 
her. 

It was currently reported at the time that at- 
tempts were made to maim or seriously injure the 
little princess. By what was made to seem an acci- 
dent, she would be dropped upon the floor, and 
heavy articles of furniture would somehow manage 
to strike her. More than once a great beam fell 
mysteriously close to her, either in the palace or 
while she was passing through the streets. None 
of these things did her serious harm, however. 
Most of them she luckily escaped; but when she 

76 



QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN 

had grown to be a woman one of her shoulders was 
permanently higher than the other. 

"I suppose," said Christina, "that I could be 
straightened if I would let the surgeons attend to 
it; but it isn't worth while to take the trouble." 

When Christina was four, Sweden became involved 
in the great war that had been raging for a dozen 
years between the Protestant and the Catholic 
states of Germany. Gradually the neighboring 
powers had been drawn into the struggle, either to 
serve their own ends or to support the faith to which 
they adhered. Gustavus Adolphus took up the 
sword with mixed motives, for he was full of enthu- 
siasm for the imperiled cause of the Reformation, 
and at the same time he deemed it a favorable op- 
portunity to assert his control over the shores of 
the Baltic. 

The warrior king summoned his army and pre- 
pared to invade Germany. Before departing he 
took his little daughter by the hand and led her 
among the assembled nobles and councilors of state. 
To them he intrusted the princess, making them 
kneel and vow that they would regard her as his 
heir, and, if aught should happen to him, as his suc- 
cessor. Amid the clashing of swords and the clang 
of armor this vow was taken, and the king went forth 
to war. 

He met the ablest generals of his enemies, and 
the fortunes of battle swayed hither and thither; 
but the climax came when his soldiers encountered 
those of Wallenstein — that strange, overbearing, 
arrogant, mysterious creature whom many regarded 
with a sort of awe. The clash came at Lutzen, in 
Saxony. The Swedish king fought long and hard, 
and so did his mighty opponent; but at last, in the 

77 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

very midst of a tremendous onset that swept all 
before him, Gustavus received a mortal wound and 
died, even while Wallenstein was fleeing from the 
field of battle. 

The battle of Liitzen made Christina Queen of 
Sweden at the age of six. Of course, she could not 
yet be crowned, but a council of able ministers con- 
tinued the policy of the late king and taught the 
young queen her first lessons in statecraft. Her 
intellect soon showed itself as more than that of a 
child. She understood all that was taking place, 
and all that was planned and arranged. Her tact 
was unusual. Her discretion was admired by every 
one ; and after a while she had the advice and train- 
ing of the great Swedish chancellor, Oxenstierna, 
whose wisdom she shared to a remarkable degree. 

Before she was sixteen she had so approved her- 
self to her counselors, and especially to the people 
at large, that there was a wide-spread clamor that 
she should take the throne and govern in her own 
person. To this she gave no heed, but said: 

"I am not yet ready." 

All this time she bore herself like a king. There 
was nothing distinctly feminine about her. She 
took but slight interest in her appearance. She 
wore sword and armor in the presence of her troops, 
and often she dressed entirely in men's clothes. 
She would take long, lonely gallops through the 
forests, brooding over problems of state and feel- 
ing no fatigue or fear. And indeed why should she 
fear, who was beloved by all her subjects? 

When her eighteenth year arrived, the demand 
for her coronation was impossible to resist. All 
Sweden wished to see a ruling queen, who might 
marry and have children to succeed her through 

78 






QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN 

the royal line of her great father. Christina con- 
sented to be crowned, but she absolutely refused 
all thought of marriage. She had more suitors from 
all parts of Europe than even Elizabeth of England ; 
but, unlike Elizabeth, she did not dally with them, 
give them false hopes, or use them for the political 
advantage of her kingdom. 

At that time Sweden was stronger than England, 
and was so situated as to be independent of alliances. 
So Christina said, in her harsh, peremptory voice: 

"I shall never marry; and why should you speak 
of my having children? I am just as likely to give 
birth to a Nero as to an Augustus." 

Having assumed the throne, she ruled with a 
strictness of government such as Sweden had not 
known before. She took the reins of state into her 
own hands and carried out a foreign policy of her 
own, over the heads of her ministers, and even 
against the wishes of her people. The fighting upon 
the Continent had dragged out to a weary length, 
but the Swedes, on the whole, had scored a marked 
advantage. For this reason the war was popular, 
and every one wished it to go on; but Christina, 
of her own will, decided that it must stop, that mere 
glory was not to be considered against material ad- 
vantages. Sweden had had enough of glory; she 
must now look to her enrichment and prosperity 
through the channels of peace. 

Therefore, in 1648, against Oxenstierna, against 
her generals, and against her people, she exercised 
her royal power and brought the Thirty Years' War 
to an end by the so-called Peace of Westphalia. 
At this time she was twenty-two, and by her per- 
sonal influence she had ended one of the greatest 
struggles of history. Nor had she done it to her 

79 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

country's loss. Denmark yielded up rich provinces, 
while Germany was compelled to grant Sweden 
membership in the German diet. 

Then came a period of immense prosperity 
through commerce, through economies in govern- 
ment, through the improvement of agriculture and 
the opening of mines. This girl queen, without in- 
trigue, without descending from her native nobility 
to peep and whisper with shady diplomats, showed 
herself in reality a great monarch, a true Semira- 
mis of the north, more worthy of respect and rever- 
ence than Elizabeth of England. She was highly 
trained in many arts. She was fond of study, spoke 
Latin fluently, and could argue with Salmasius, 
Descartes, and other accomplished scholars without 
showing any inferiority to them. 

She gathered at her court distinguished persons 
from all countries. She repelled those who sought 
her hand, and she was pure and truthful and worthy 
of all men's admiration. Had she died at this time 
history would rank her with the greatest of women 
sovereigns. Naude, the librarian of Cardinal Maz- 
arin, wrote of her to the scientist Gassendi in these 
words: 

To say truth, I am sometimes afraid lest the common saying 
should be verified in her, that short is the life and rare the 
old age of those who surpass the common limits. Do not 
imagine that she is learned only in books, for she is equally so 
in painting, architecture, sculpture, medals, antiquities, and all 
curiosities. There is not a cunning workman in these arts but 
she has him fetched. There are as good workers in wax and in 
enamel, engravers, singers, players, dancers here as will be 
found anywhere. 

She has a gallery of statues, bronze and marble, medals of 
gold, silver, and bronze, pieces of ivory, amber, coral, worked 
crystal, steel mirrors, clocks and tables, bas-reliefs and other 

80 



QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN 

things of the kind; richer I have never seen even in Italy; 
finally, a great quantity of pictures. In short, her mind is 
open to all impressions. 



But after she began to make her court a sort of 
home for art and letters it ceased to be the sort of 
court that Sweden was prepared for. Christina's 
subjects were still rude and lacking in accomplish- 
ments; therefore she had to summon men of genius 
from other countries, especially from France and 
Italy. Many of these were illustrious artists or 
scholars, but among them were also some who used 
their mental gifts for harm. 

Among these latter was a French physician named 
Bourdelot — a man of keen intellect, of winning 
manners, and of a profound cynicism, which was 
not apparent on the surface, but the effect of which 
was lasting. To Bourdelot we must chiefly ascribe 
the mysterious change which gradually came over 
Queen Christina. With his associates he taught 
her a distaste for the simple and healthy life that 
she had been accustomed to lead. She ceased to 
think of the welfare of the state and began to look 
down with scorn upon her unsophisticated Swedes. 
Foreign luxury displayed itself at Stockholm, and 
her palaces overflowed with beautiful things. 

By subtle means Bourdelot undermined her prin- 
ciples. Having been a Stoic, she now became an 
Epicurean. She was by nature devoid of sentiment. 
She would not spend her time in the niceties of love- 
making, as did Elizabeth; but beneath the surface 
she had a sort of tigerish, passionate nature, which 
would break forth at intervals, and which demanded 
satisfaction from a series of favorites. It is prob- 
able that Bourdelot was her first lover, but there 

81 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

were many others whose names are recorded in the 
annals of the time. 

When she threw aside her virtue Christina ceased 
to care about appearances. She squandered her 
revenues upon her favorites. What she retained of 
her former self was a carelessness that braved the 
opinion of her subjects. She dressed almost with- 
out thought, and it is said that she combed her hair 
not more than twice a month. She caroused with 
male companions to the scandal of her people, and 
she swore like a trooper whenever she was displeased. 

Christina's philosophy of life appears to have been 
compounded of an almost brutal licentiousness, a 
strong love of power, and a strange, freakish long- 
ing for something new. Her political ambitions 
were checked by the rising discontent of her people, 
who began to look down upon her and to feel ashamed 
of her shame. Knowing herself as she did, she did 
not care to marry. 

Yet Sweden must have an heir. Therefore she 
chose out her cousin Charles, declared that he was 
to be her successor, and finally caused him to be pro-, 
claimed as such before the assembled estates of the 
realm. She even had him crowned; and finally, 
in her twenty-eighth year, she abdicated altogether 
and prepared to leave Sweden. When asked whither 
she would go, she replied in a Latin quotation: 

"The Fates will show the way." 

In her act of abdication she reserved to herself 
the revenues of some of the richest provinces in 
Sweden and absolute power over such of her sub- 
jects as should accompany her. They were to be 
her subjects until the end. 

The Swedes remembered that Christina was the 
daughter of their greatest king, and that, apart 

82 



QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN 

from personal scandals, she had ruled them well; 
and so they let her go regretfully and accepted her 
cousin as their king. Christina, on her side, went 
joyfully and in the spirit of a grand adventuress. 
With a numerous suite she entered Germany, and 
then stayed for a year at Brussels, where she re- 
nounced Lutheranism. After this she traveled slowly 
into Italy, where she entered Rome on horseback, 
and was received by the Pope, Alexander VII., who 
lodged her in a magnificent palace, accepted her 
conversion, and baptized her, giving her a new 
name, Alexandra. 

In Rome she was a brilliant but erratic personage, 
living sumptuously, even though her revenues from 
Sweden came in slowly, partly because the Swedes 
disliked her change of religion. She was surrounded 
by men of letters, with whom she amused herself, 
and she took to herself a lover, the Marquis Mo- 
naldeschi. She thought that at last she had really 
found her true affinity, while Monaldeschi believed 
that he could count on the queen's fidelity. 

He was in attendance upon her daily, and they 
were almost inseparable. He swore allegiance to 
her and thereby made himself one of the subjects 
over whom she had absolute power. For a time 
he was the master of those intense emotions which, 
in her, alternated with moods of coldness and even 
cruelty. 

Monaldeschi was a handsome Italian, who bore 
himself with a fine air of breeding. He understood 
the art of charming, but he did not know that be- 
yond a certain time no one could hold the affec- 
tions of Christina. 

However, after she had quarreled with various 
cardinals and decided to leave Rome for a while, 

83 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Monaldeschi accompanied her to France, where she 
had an immense vogue at the court of Louis XIV. 
She attracted wide attention because of her eccen- 
tricity and utter lack of manners. It gave her the 
greatest delight to criticize the ladies of the French 
court — their looks, their gowns, and their jewels. 
They, in return, would speak of Christina's deformed 
shoulder and skinny frame; but the king was very 
gracious to her and invited her to his hunting- 
palace at Fontainebleau. 

While she had been winning triumphs of sarcasm 
the infatuated Monaldeschi had gradually come to 
suspect, and then to know, that his royal mistress 
was no longer true to him. He had been supplanted 
in her favor by another Italian, one Sentanelli, who 
was the captain of her guard. 

Monaldeschi took a tortuous and roundabout re- 
venge. He did not let the queen know of his dis- 
covery; nor did he, like a man, send a challenge to 
Sentanelli. Instead he began by betraying her 
secrets to Oliver Cromwell, with whom she had tried 
to establish a correspondence. Again, imitating the 
hand and seal of Sentanelli, he set in circulation a 
series of the most scandalous and insulting letters 
about Christina. By this treacherous trick he hoped 
to end the relations between his rival and the queen ; 
but when the letters were carried to Christina she 
instantly recognized their true source. She saw that 
she was betrayed by her former favorite and that 
he had taken a revenge which might seriously com- 
promise her. 

This led to a tragedy, of which the facts were 
long obscure. They were carefully recorded, how- 
ever, by the queen's household chaplain, Father Le 
Bel; and there is also a narrative written by one 

84 



QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN 

Marco Antonio Conti, which confirms the story. 
Both were published privately in 1865, with notes 
by Louis Lacour. 

The narration of the priest is dreadful in its sim- 
plicity and minuteness of detail. It may be summed 
up briefly here, because it is the testimony of an 
eye-witness who knew Christina and understood her 
enigmatic character. 

Christina, with the marquis and a large retinue, 
was at Fontainebleau in November, 1657. A little 
after midnight, when all was still, the priest, Father 
Le Bel, was aroused and ordered to go at once to 
the Galerie des Cerfs, or Hall of Stags, in another 
part of the palace. When he asked why, he was 
told: 

"It is by the order of her majesty the Swedish 
queen." 

The priest, wondering, hurried on his garments. 
On reaching the gloomy hall he saw the Marquis 
Monaldeschi, evidently in great agitation, and at 
the end of the corridor the queen in somber robes. 
Beside the queen, as if awaiting orders, stood three 
figures, who could with some difficulty be made out 
as three soldiers of her guard, wearing corselets 
under their cloaks and swords buckled to their belts. 

The queen motioned to Father Le Bel and asked 
him for a packet which she had given him for safe- 
keeping some little time before. He gave it to her, 
and she opened it. In it were letters and other docu- 
ments, which, with a steely glance, she displayed to 
Monaldeschi. He was confused by the sight of them 
and by the incisive words in which Christina showed 
how he had both insulted her and had tried to shift 
the blame upon Sentanelli. 

Monaldeschi broke down completely. He fell at 

35 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

the queen's feet and wept piteously, begging for 
pardon, only to be met by the cold answer: 

"You are my subject and a traitor to me. Mar- 
quis, you must prepare to die!" 

Then she turned away and left the hall, in spite 
of the cries of Monaldeschi, to whom she merely 
added the advice that he should make his peace 
with God by confessing to Father Le Bel. 

After she had gone the marquis fell into a torrent 
of self -exculpation and cried for mercy. The three 
armed men drew near and urged him to confess for 
the good of his soul. They seemed to have no 
malice against him, but to feel that they must obey 
the orders given them. At the frantic urging of the 
marquis their leader even went to the queen to ask 
whether she would relent; but he returned shaking 
his head, and said: 

"Marquis, you must die." 

Father Le Bel undertook a like mission, but re- 
turned with the message that there was no hope. 
So the marquis made his confession in French and 
Latin and Italian, but even then he hoped; for he 
did not wait to receive absolution, but begged still 
further for delay or pardon. 

Then the three armed men approached, having 
drawn their swords. The absolution was pro- 
nounced; and, following it, one of the guards slashed 
the marquis across the forehead. He stumbled and 
fell forward, making signs as if to ask that he might 
have his throat cut. But his throat was partly pro- 
tected by a coat of mail, so that three or four strokes 
delivered there had slight effect. Finally, however, 
a long, narrow sword was thrust into his side, after 
which the marquis made no sound. 

Father Le Bel at once left the Galerie des Cerfs 

86 



QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN 

and went into the queen's apartment, with the smell 
of blood in his nostrils. He found her calm and ready 
to justify herself. Was she not still queen over all 
who had voluntarily become members of her suite? 
This had been agreed to in her act of abdication. 
Wherever she set her foot, there, over her own, she 
was still a monarch, with full power to punish trai- 
tors at her will. This power she had exercised, and 
with justice. What mattered it that she was in France ? 
She was queen as truly as Louis XIV. was king. 

The story was not long in getting out, but the 
truth was not wholly known until a much later day. 
It was said that Sentanelli had stabbed the marquis 
in a fit of jealousy, though some added that it was 
done with the connivance of the queen. King Louis, 
the incarnation of absolutism, knew the truth, but 
he was slow to act. He sympathized with the theory 
of Christina's sovereignty. It was only after a time 
that word was sent to Christina that she must leave 
Fontainebleau. She took no notice of the order until 
it suited her convenience, and then she went forth 
with all the honors of a reigning monarch. 

This was the most striking episode in all the 
strange story of her private life. When her cousin 
Charles, whom she had made king, died without an 
heir she sought to recover her crown; but the es- 
tates of the realm refused her claim, reduced her 
income, and imposed restraints upon her power. 
She then sought the vacant throne of Poland; but 
the Polish nobles, who desired a weak ruler for their 
own purposes, made another choice. So at last she 
returned to Rome, where the Pope received her 
with a splendid procession and granted twelve her 
thousand crowns a year to make up for her lessened 
Swedish revenue. 

87 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

From this time she lived a life which she made 
interesting by her patronage of learning and ex- 
citing by her rather unseemly quarrels with cardi- 
nals and even with the Pope. Her armed retinue 
marched through the streets with drawn swords 
and gave open protection to criminals who had taken 
refuge with her. She dared to criticize the pontiff, 
who merely smiled and said: 

"She is a woman!" 

On the whole, the end of her life was pleasant. 
She was much admired for her sagacity in politics. 
Her words were listened to at every court in Europe. 
She annotated the classics, she made beautiful col- 
lections, and she was regarded as a privileged per- 
son whose acts no one took amiss. She died at fifty- 
three, and was buried in St. Peter's. 

She was bred a man, she was almost a son to her 
great father; and yet, instead of the sonorous epi- 
taph that is inscribed beside her tomb, perhaps a 
truer one would be the words of the vexed Pope: 

"E donna!" 






KING CHARLES II. AND 
NELL GWYN 



KING CHARLES II. AND NELL GWYN 

ONE might classify the kings of England in many 
ways. John was undoubtedly the most un- 
popular. The impetuous yet far-seeing Henry II., 
with the other two great warriors, Edward I. and 
Edward III., and William of Orange, did most for 
the foundation and development of England's con- 
stitutional law. Some monarchs, such as Edward II. 
and the womanish Henry VI., have been contempt- 
ible. Llard-working, useful kings have been Henry 
VII., the Georges, William IV., and especially the 
last Edward. 

If we consider those monarchs who have in some 
curious way touched the popular fancy without 
reference to their virtues we must go back to Rich- 
ard of the Lion Heart, who saw but little of England, 
yet was the best essentially English king, and to 
Henry V., gallant soldier and conqueror of France. 
Even Henry VIII. had a warm place in the affection 
of his countrymen, few of whom saw him near at 
hand, but most of whom made him a sort of regal 
incarnation of John Bull — -wrestling and tilting and 
boxing, eating great joints of beef, and staying his 
thirst with flagons of ale — a big, healthy, masterful 
animal, in fact, who gratified the national love of 
splendor and stood up manfully in his struggle with 
the Pope. 

But if you look for something more than ordinary 

91 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

popularity — something that belongs to sentiment 
and makes men willing to become martyrs for a 
royal cause — we must find these among the Stuart 
kings. It is odd, indeed, that even at this day 
there are Englishmen and Englishwomen who be- 
lieve their lawful sovereign to be a minor Bavarian 
princess in whose veins there runs the Stuart blood. 
Prayers are said for her at English shrines, and toasts 
are drunk to her in rare old wine. 

Of course, to-day this cult of the Stuarts is noth- 
ing but a fad. No one ever expects to see a Stuart 
on the English throne. But it is significant of the 
deep strain of romance which the six Stuarts who 
reigned in England have implanted in the English 
heart. The old Jacobite ballads still have power to 
thrill. Queen Victoria herself used to have the 
pipers file out before her at Balmoral to the "skir- 
ling" of "Bonnie Dundee," "Over the Water to 
Charlie," and "Wha'll Be King but Charlie?" It 
is a sentiment that has never died. Her late majesty 
used to say that when she heard these tunes she be- 
came for the moment a Jacobite ; just as the Empress 
Eugenie at the height of her power used pertly to 
remark that she herself was the only Legitimist 
left in France. 

It may be suggested that the Stuarts are still 
loved by many Englishmen because they were un- 
fortunate; yet this is hardly true, after all. Many 
of them were fortunate enough. The first of them, 
King James, an absurd creature, speaking broad 
Scotch, timid, foolishly fond of favorites, and hav- 
ing none of the dignity of a monarch, lived out a 
lengthy reign. The two royal women of the family — 
Anne and Mary — had no misfortunes of a public 
nature, Charles II. reigned for more than a quarter 

93 



CHARLES II. AND NELL GWYN 

of a century, lapped in every kind of luxury, and 
died a king. 

The first Charles was beheaded and afterward 
styled a "saint"; yet the majority of the English 
people were against his arrogance, or else he would 
have won in his great struggle against Parliament. 
The second James was not popular at all. Never- 
theless, no sooner had he been expelled, and been 
succeeded by a Dutchman gnawing asparagus and 
reeking of cheeses, than there was already a Stuart 
legend. Even had there been no pretenders to carry 
on the cult, the Stuarts would still have passed into 
history as much loved by the people. 

It only shows how very little in former days the 
people expected of a regnant king. Many monarchs 
have had just a few popular traits, and these have 
stood out brilliantly against the darkness of the 
background. 

No one could have cared greatly for the first James, 
but Charles I. was indeed a kingly personage when 
viewed afar. He was handsome, as a man, fully 
equaling the French princess who became his wife. 
He had no personal vices. He was brave, and good 
to look upon, and had a kingly mien. Hence, al- 
though he sought to make his rule over England a 
tyranny, there were many fine old cavaliers to ride 
afield for him when he raised his standard, and who, 
when he died, mourned for him as a "martyr." 

Many hardships they underwent while Cromwell 
ruled with his iron hand; and when that iron hand 
was relaxed in death, and poor, feeble Richard 
Cromwell slunk away to his country-seat, what 
wonder is it that young Charles came back to Eng- 
land and caracoled through the streets of London 
with a smile for every one and a happy laugh upon 

93 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

his lips? What wonder is it that the cannon in the 
Tower thundered a loud welcome, and that all over 
England, at one season or another, maypoles rose 
and Christmas fires blazed? For Englishmen at 
heart are not only monarchists, but they are lovers 
of good cheer and merrymaking and all sorts of 
mirth. 

Charles II. might well at first have seemed a 
worthier and wiser successor to his splendid father. 
As a child, even, he had shown himself to be no 
faint-hearted creature. When the great Civil War 
broke out he had joined his father's army. It met 
with disaster at Edgehill, and was finally shattered 
by the crushing defeat of Naseby, which afterward 
inspired Macaulay's most stirring ballad. 

Charles was then onry a child of twelve, and so 
his followers did wisely in hurrying him out of 
England, through the Scilly isles and Jersey to his 
mother's place of exile. Of course, a child so very 
young could be of no value as a leader, though his 
presence might prove an inspiration. 

In 1648, however, when he was eighteen years 
of age, he gathered a fleet of eighteen ships and 
cruised along the English coast, taking prizes, which 
he carried to the Dutch ports. When he was at 
Holland's capital, during his father's trial, he wrote 
many messages to the Parliamentarians, and even 
sent them a blank charter, which they might rill 
in with any stipulations they desired if only they 
would save and restore their king. 

When the head of Charles rolled from the velvet- 
covered block his son showed himself to be no loi- 
terer or lover of an easy life. He hastened to Scot- 
land, skilfully escaping an English force, and was 
proclaimed as king and crowned at Scone, in 165 1. 

94 



CHARLES II. AND NELL GWYN 

With ten thousand men he dashed into England, 
where he knew there were many who would rally 
at his call. But it was then that Cromwell put forth 
his supreme military genius and with his Ironsides 
crushed the royal troops at Worcester. 

Charles knew that for the present all was lost. 
He showed courage and address in covering the 
flight of his beaten soldiers; but he soon afterward 
went to France, remaining there and in the Nether- 
lands for eight years as a pensioner of Louis XIV. 
He knew that time would fight for him far more 
surely than infantry and horse. England had not 
been called "Merry England" for nothing; and 
Cromwell's tyranny was likely to be far more re- 
sented than the heavy hand of one who was born' a 
king. So Charles at Paris and Liege, though he 
had little money at the time, managed to maintain 
a royal court, such as it was. 

Here there came out another side of his nature. 
As a child he had borne hardship and privation 
and had seen the red blood flow upon the battle- 
field. Now, as it were, he allowed a certain sensu- 
ous, pleasure-loving ease to envelop him. The red 
blood should become the rich red burgundy; the 
sound of trumpets and kettledrums should give way 
to the melody of lutes and viols. He would be a 
king of pleasure if he were to be king at all. And 
therefore his court, even in exile, was a court of gal- 
lantry and ease. The Pope refused to lend him 
money, and the King of France would not increase 
his pension, but there were many who foresaw that 
Charles would not long remain in exile; and so they 
gave him what he wanted and waited until he 
could give them what they would ask for in their 
turn. 

95 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Charles at this time was not handsome, like his. 
father. His complexion was swarthy, his figure by 
no means imposing, though always graceful. When 
he chose he could bear himself with all the dignity 
of a monarch. As a young man he had a singularly 
pleasant manner, and a word from him could win 
over the harshest opponent. 

The old cavaliers who accompanied their master 
in exile were like Napoleon's veterans in Elba. 
With their tall, powerful forms they stalked about 
the courtyards, sniffing their disapproval at these 
foreign ways and longing grimly for the time when 
they could once more smell the pungent powder 
of the battle-field. But, as Charles had hoped, the 
change was coming. Not merely were his own sub- 
jects beginning to long for him and to pray in secret 
for the king, but continental monarchs w T ho main- 
tained spies in England began to know of this. To 
them Charles was no longer a penniless exile. He 
was a king who before long would take possession 
of his kingdom. 

A very wise woman — the Queen Regent of Por- 
tugal — was the first to act on this information. 
Portugal was then very far from being a petty state. 
It had wealth at home and rich colonies abroad, 
while its flag was seen on every sea. The queen re- 
gent, being at odds with Spain, and wishing to 
secure an ally against that power, made overtures 
to Charles, asking him whether a match might not 
be made between him and the Princess Catharine 
of Braganza. It was not merely her daughter's 
hand that she offered, but a splendid dowry. She 
would pay Charles a million pounds in gold and cede 
to England two valuable ports. 

The match was not yet made, but by 1659 it had 

96 



CHARLES II. AND NELL GWYN 

been arranged. The Spaniards were furious, for 
Charles's cause began to appear successful. 

She was a quaint and rather piteous little figure, 
she who was destined to be the wife of the Merry 
Monarch. Catharine was dark, petite, and by no 
means beautiful; yet she had a very sweet expres- 
sion and a heart of utter innocence. She had been 
wholly convent-bred. She knew nothing of the world. 
She was told that in marriage she must obey in all 
things, and that the chief duty of a wife was to make 
her husband happy. 

Poor child! It was a too gracious preparation 
for a very graceless husband. Charles, in exile, had 
already made more than one discreditable connection 
and he was already the father of more than one 
growing son. 

First of all, he had been smitten by the bold ways 
of one Lucy Walters. Her impudence amused the 
exiled monarch. She was not particularly beau- 
tiful, and when she spoke as others did she was 
rather tiresome; but her pertness and the inexperi- 
ence of the king when he went into exile made her 
seem attractive. She bore him a son, in the person 
of that brilliant adventurer whom Charles after- 
ward created Duke of Monmouth. Many persons 
believed that Charles had married Lucy Walters, 
just as George IV. may have married Mrs. Fitz- 
herbert; yet there is not the slightest proof of it, 
and it must be classed with popular legends. 

There was also one Catherine Peg, or Kep, whose 
son was afterward made Earl of Plymouth. It must 
be confessed that in his attachments to English 
women Charles showed little care for rank or station. 
Lucy Walters and Catherine Peg were very illiterate 
creatures, 

97 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

In a way it was precisely this sort of preference 
that made Charles so popular among the people. 
He seemed to make rank of no account, but would 
chat in the most familiar and friendly way with 
any one whom he happened to meet. His easy, 
democratic manner, coupled with the grace and 
prestige of royalty, made friends for him all over 
England. The treasury might be nearly bankrupt; 
the navy might be routed by the Dutch; the king 
himself might be too much given to dissipation; 
but his people forgave him all, because everybody 
knew that Charles would clap an honest citizen on 
the back and joke with all who came to see him 
feed the swans in Regent's Park. 

The popular name for him was "Rowley," or 
"Old Rowley" — a nickname of mysterious origin, 
though it is said to have been given him from a 
fancied resemblance to a famous hunter in his 
stables. Perhaps it is the very final test of popu- 
larity that a ruler should have a nickname known 
to every one. 

Cromwell's death roused all England to a frenzy 
of king-worship. The Roundhead, General Monk, 
and his soldiers proclaimed Charles King of Eng- 
land and escorted him to London in splendid state. 
That was a day when national feeling reached a 
point such as never has been before or since. Ough- 
tred, the famous mathematician, died of joy when 
the royal emblems were restored. Urquhart, the 
translator of Rabelais, died, it is said, of laughter 
at the people's wild delight — a truly Rabelaisian end. 

There was the king once more; and England, 
breaking through its long period of Puritanism, 
laughed and danced with more vivacity than ever 
the French had shown. All the pipers and the 

98 



CHARLES II. AND NELL GWYN 

players and panderers to vice, the mountebanks, 
the sensual men, and the lawless women poured 
into the presence of the king, who had been too long 
deprived of the pleasure that his nature craved. 
Parliament voted seventy thousand pounds for a 
memorial to Charles's father, but the irresponsible 
king spent the whole sum on the women who sur- 
rounded him. His severest counselor, Lord Claren- 
don, sent him a remonstrance. 

"How can I build such a memorial," asked Charles, 
"when I don't know where my father's remains are 
buried?" 

He took money from the King of France to make 
war against the Dutch, who had befriended him. It 
was the French king, too, who sent him that in- 
sidious, subtle daughter of Brittany, Louise de 
Keroualle — Duchess of Portsmouth — a diplomat in 
petticoats, who won the king's wayward affections, 
and spied on what he did and said, and faithfully 
reported all of it to Paris. It was she who became 
the mother of the Duke of Lenox, and it was she 
who was feared and hated by the English more 
than any other of his mistresses. They called her 
"Madam Carwell," and they seemed to have an 
instinct that she was no mere plaything of his idle 
hours, but was like some strange exotic serpent, 
whose poison might in the end sting the honor of 
England. 

There is a pitiful little episode in the marriage of 
Charles with his Portuguese bride, Catharine of 
Braganza. The royal girl came to him fresh from 
the cloisters of her convent. There was something 
a,bout her grace and innocence that touched the 
dissolute monarch, who was by no means without a 
heart. For a time he treated her with great respect, 

99 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

and she was happy. At last she began to notice 
about her strange faces — faces that were evil, wan- 
ton, or overbold. The court became more and more 
a seat of reckless revelry. 

Finally Catharine was told that the Duchess of 
Cleveland — that splendid termagant, Barbara Vil- 
liers — had been appointed lady of the bedchamber. 
She was told at the same time who this vixen was 
— that she was no fit attendant for a virtuous wom- 
an, and that her three sons, the Dukes of South- 
ampton, Grafton, and Northumberland, were also 
the sons of Charles. 

Fluttered and frightened and dismayed, the queen 
hastened to her husband and begged him not to put 
this slight upon her. A year or two before, she had 
never dreamed that life contained such things as 
these; but now it seemed to contain nothing else. 
Charles spoke sternly to her until she burst into 
tears, and then he petted her and told her that her 
duty as a queen compelled her to submit to many 
things which a lady in private life need not endure. 

After a long and poignant struggle with her own 
emotions the little Portuguese yielded to the wishes 
of her lord. She never again reproached him. She 
even spoke with kindness to his favorites and made 
him feel that she studied his happiness alone. Her 
gentleness affected him so that he always spoke to 
her with courtesy and real friendship. When the 
Protestant mobs sought to drive her out of England 
he showed his courage and manliness by standing 
by her and refusing to allow her to be > molested. 

Indeed, had Charles been always at his best he 
would have had a very different name in history. 
He could be in every sense a king. He had a keen 
knowledge of human nature. Though he governed 

ioo 



CHARLES II. AND NELL GWYN 

England very badly, he never governed it so badly 
as to lose his popularity. 

The epigram of Rochester, written at the king's 
own request, was singularly true of Charles. No 
man relied upon his word, yet men loved him. He 
never said anything that was foolish, and he very 
seldom did anything that was wise; yet his easy 
manners and gracious ways endeared him to those 
who met him. 

One can find no better picture of his court than 
that which Sir Walter Scott has drawn so vividly 
in Peveril of the Peak; or, if one wishes first-hand 
evidence, it can be found in the diaries of Evelyn 
and of Samuel Pepys. In them we find the rakes 
and dicers, full of strange oaths, deep drunkards, 
vile women and still viler men, all striving for the 
royal favor and offering the filthiest lures, amid 
routs and balls and noisy entertainments, of which 
it is recorded that more than once some woman 
gave birth to a child among the crowd of dancers. 

No wonder that the little Portuguese queen kept 
to herself and did not let herself be drawn into this 
swirling, roaring, roistering saturnalia. She had 
less influence even than Moll Davis, whom Charles 
picked out of a coffee-house, and far less than 
"Madam Carwell," to whom it is reported that a 
great English nobleman once presented pearls to the 
value of eight thousand pounds in order to secure 
her influence in a single stroke of political business. 

Of all the women who surrounded Charles there 
was only one who cared anything for him or for 
England. The rest were all either selfish or treach- 
erous or base. This one exception has been so 
greatly written of, both in fiction and in history, as 
to make it seem almost unnecessary to add another 

IOI 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

word; yet it may well be worth while to separate 
the fiction from the fact and to see "how much of 
the legend of Eleanor Gwyn is true. 

The fanciful story of her birthplace is most surely 
quite unfounded. She was not the daughter of a 
Welsh officer, but of two petty hucksters who had 
their booth in the lowest precincts of London. In 
those days the Strand was partly open country, 
and as it neared the city it showed the mansions of 
the gentry set in their green-walled parks. At one 
end of the Strand, however, was Drury Lane, then 
the haunt of criminals and every kind of wretch, 
while nearer still was the notorious Coal Yard, 
where no citizen dared go unarmed. 

Within this dreadful place children were kidnapped 
and trained to various forms of vice. It was a school 
for murderers and robbers and prostitutes; and 
every night when the torches flared it vomited forth 
its deadly spawn. Here was the earliest home of 
Eleanor Gwyn, and out of this den of iniquity she 
came at night to sell oranges at the entrance to the 
theaters. She was stage-struck, and endeavored to 
get even a minor part in a play; but Betterton, the 
famous actor, thrust her aside when she ventured 
to apply to him. 

It must be said that in everything that was ex- 
ternal, except her beauty, she fell short of a fastidi- 
ous taste. She was intensely ignorant even for that 
time. She spoke in a broad Cockney dialect. She 
had lived the life of the Coal Yard, and, like Zola's 
Nana, she could never remember the time when she 
had known the meaning of chastity. 

Nell Gwyn was, in fact, a product of the vilest 
slums of London; and precisely because she was 
this we must set her down as intrinsically a good 

102 




NELL GWYN 



CHARLES II. AND NELL GWYN 

woman — one of the truest, frankest, and most right- 
minded of whom the history of such women has 
anything to tell. All that external circumstances 
could do to push her down into the mire was done; 
yet she was not pushed down, but emerged as one 
of those rare souls who have in their natures an 
uncontaminated spring of goodness and honesty. 
Unlike Barbara Villiers or Lucy Walters or Louise 
de Keroualle, she was neither a harpy nor a foe to 
England. 

Charles is said first to have met her when he, in- 
cognito, with another friend, was making the rounds 
of the theaters at night. The king spied her glowing, 
nut-brown face in one of the boxes, and, forgetting 
his incognito, went up and joined her. She was 
with her protector of the time, Lord Buckhurst, 
who, of course, recognized his majesty. 

Presently the whole party went out to a neigh- 
boring coffee-house, where they drank and ate to- 
gether. When it came time to pay the reckoning 
the king found that he had no money, nor had his 
friend. Lord Buckhurst, therefore, paid the bill, 
while Mistress Nell jeered at the other two, saying 
that this was the most poverty-stricken party that 
she had ever met. 

Charles did not lose sight of her. Her frankness 
and honest manner pleased him. There came a time 
when she was known to be a mistress of the king, 
and she bore a son, who was ennobled as the Duke 
of St. Albans, but who did not live to middle age. 
Nell Gwyn was much with Charles; and after his 
tempestuous scenes with Barbara Villiers, and the 
feeling of dishonor which the Duchess of Portsmouth 
made him experience, the girl's good English blunt- 
ness was a pleasure far more rare than sentiment. 

103 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Somehow, just as the people had come to mis- 
trust ''Madam Carwell," so they came to like Nell 
Gwyn. She saw enough of Charles, and she liked 
him well enough, to wish that he might do his duty 
by his people; and she alone had the boldness to 
speak out what she thought. One day she found 
him lolling in an arm-chair and complaining that the 
people were not satisfied. 

"You can very easily satisfy them," said Nell 
Gwyn. "Dismiss your women and attend to the 
proper business of a king." 

Again, her heart was touched at the misfortunes 
of the old soldiers who had fought for Charles and 
for his father during the Civil War, and who were 
now neglected, while the treasury was emptied for 
French favorites, and while the policy of England 
itself was bought and sold in France. Many and 
many a time, when other women of her kind used 
their lures to get jewels or titles or estates or actual 
heaps of money, Nell Gwyn besought the king to 
aid these needy veterans. Because of her efforts 
Chelsea Hospital was founded. Such money as she 
had she shared with the poor and with those who 
had fought for her royal lover. 

As I have said, she is a historical type of the wom- 
an who loses her physical purity, yet who retains 
a sense of honor and of honesty which nothing can 
take from her. There are not many such examples, 
and therefore this one is worth remembering. 

Of anecdotes concerning her there are many, but 
not often has their real import been detected. If 
she could twine her arms about the monarch's neck 
and transport him in a delirium of passion, this was 
only part of what she did. She tried to keep him 
right and true and worthy of his rank; and after 

104 



CHARLES II. AND NELL GWYN 

he had ceased to care much for her as a lover he 
remembered that she had been faithful in many 
other things. 

Then there came the death-bed scene, when 
Charles, in his inimitable manner, apologized to 
those about him because he was so long in dying. 
A far sincerer sentence was that which came from his 
heart, as he cried out, in the very pangs of death : 

"Do not let poor Nelly starve !" 
8 



MAURICE OF SAXONY AND 
ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR 



MAURICE OF SAXONY 
AND ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR 

IT is an old saying that to every womanly woman 
self-sacrifice is almost a necessity of her nature. 
To make herself of small account as compared with 
the one she loves; to give freely of herself, even 
though she may receive nothing in return ; to suffer, 
and yet to feel an inner poignant joy in all this suf- 
fering — here is a most wonderful trait of woman- 
hood. Perhaps it is akin to the maternal instinct; 
for to the mother, after she has felt the throb of a 
new life within her, there is no sacrifice so great 
and no anguish so keen that she will not welcome it 
as the outward sign and evidence of her illimitable 
love. 

In most women this spirit of self-sacrifice is checked 
and kept within ordinary bounds by the circum- 
stances of their lives. In many small things they 
do yield and they do suffer; yet it is not in yield- 
ing and in suffering that they find their deepest joy. 

There are some, however, who seem to have been 
born with an abnormal capacity for enduring hard- 
ship and mental anguish; so that by a sort of con- 
tradiction they find their happiness in sorrow. Such 
women are endowed with a remarkable degree of 
sensibility. They feel intensely. In moments of 
grief and disappointment, and even of despair, there 
steals over them a sort of melancholy pleasure. It 

109 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY.., 

is as if they loved dim lights and mournful music 
and scenes full of sad suggestion. 

If everything goes well with them, they are un- 
willing to believe that such good fortune will last. 
If anything goes wrong with them, they are sure 
that this is only the beginning of something even 
worse. The music of their lives is written in a minor 
key. 

Now, for such women as these, the world at large 
has very little charity. It speaks slightingly of them 
as "agonizers." It believes that they are "fond of 
making scenes." It regards as an affectation some- 
thing that is really instinctive and inevitable. Un- 
less such women are beautiful and young and charm- 
ing they are treated badly; and this is often true 
in spite of all their natural attractiveness, for they 
seem to court ill usage as if they were saying 
frankly : 

"Come, take us! We will give you everything 
and ask for nothing. We do not expect true and 
enduring love. Do not be constant or generous 
or even kind. We know that we shall suffer. But, 
none the less, in our sorrow there will be sweetness, 
and even in our abasement we shall feel a sort of 
triumph." 

In history there is one woman who stands out 
conspicuously as a type of her melancholy sister- 
hood, one whose life was full of disappointment 
even when she was most successful, and of indignity 
even when she was most sought after and admired. 
This woman was Adrienne Lecouvreur, famous in 
the annals of the stage, and still more famous in 
the annals of unrequited — or, at any rate, unhappy 
— love. 

Her story is linked with that of a man no less re- 

no 



ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR 

markable than herself, a hero of chivalry, a marvel 
of courage, of fascination, and of irresponsibility. 

Adrienne Lecouvreur — her name was originally 
Couvreur — was born toward the end of the seven- 
teenth century in the little French village of Damery, 
not far from Rheims, where her aunt was a laun- 
dress and her father a hatter in a small way. Of her 
mother, who died in childbirth, we know nothing; 
but her father was a man of gloomy and ungovern- 
able temper, breaking out into violent fits of passion, 
in one of which, long afterward, he died, raving and 
yelling like a maniac. 

Adrienne was brought up at the wash-tub, and 
became accustomed to a wandering life, in which 
she went from one town to another. What she had 
inherited from her mother is, of course, not known; 
but she had all her father's strangely pessimistic 
temper , softened only by the fact that she was a girl. 
From her earliest years she was unhappy; yet her 
unhappiness was largely of her own choosing. Other 
girls of her own station met life cheerfully, worked 
away from dawn till dusk, and then had their mo- 
ments of amusement, and even jollity, with their 
companions, after the fashion of all children. But 
Adrienne Lecouvreur was unhappy because she 
chose to be. It was not the wash-tub that made 
her so, for she had been born to it; nor was it the 
half -mad outbreaks of her father, because to her, at 
least, he was not unkind. Her discontent sprang 
from her excessive sensibility. 

Indeed, for a peasant child she had reason to 
think herself far more fortunate than her associates. 
Her intelligence was great. Ambition was awakened 
in her before she was ten years of age, when she 
began to learn and to recite poems — learning them, 

in 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

as has been said, "between the wash-tub and the 
ironing-board," and reciting them to the admira- 
tion of older and wiser people than she. Even at 
ten she was a very beautiful child, with great lam- 
bent eyes, an exquisite complexion, and a lovely 
form, while she had the further gift of a voice that 
thrilled the listener and, when she chose, brought 
tears to every eye. She was, indeed, a natural elo- 
cutionist, knowing by instinct all those modulations 
of tone and varied cadences which go to the hearer's 
heart. 

It was very like Adrienne Lecouvreur to mem- 
orize only such poems as were mournful, just as in 
after life she could win success upon the stage only 
in tragic parts. She would repeat with a sort of 
ecstasy the pathetic poems that were then admired; 
and she was soon able to give up her menial work, 
because many people asked her to their houses so 
that they could listen to the divinely beautiful voice 
charged with the emotion which was always at her 
command. 

When she was thirteen her father moved to Paris, 
where she was placed at school — a very humble 
school in a very humble quarter of the city. Yet 
even there her genius showed itself at that early 
age. A number of children and young people, 
probably influenced by Adrienne, formed them- 
selves into a theatrical company from the pure love 
of acting. A friendly grocer let them have an empty 
store-room for their performances, and in this store- 
room Adrienne Lecouvreur first acted in a tragedy 
by Corneille, assuming the part of leading woman. 

Her genius for the stage was like the genius of 
Napoleon for war. She had had no teaching. She 
had never been inside of any theater; and yet she 

112 



ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR 

delivered the magnificent lines with all the power 
and fire and effectiveness of a most accomplished 
actress. People thronged to see her and to feel the 
tempest of emotion which shook her as she sustained 
her part, which for the moment was as real to her 
as life itself. 

At first only the people of the neighborhood 
knew anything about these amateur performances; 
but presently a lady of rank, one Mme. du Gue, 
came out of curiosity and was fascinated by the 
little actress. Mme. du Gue offered the spacious 
courtyard of her own house, and fitted it with some 
of the appurtenances of a theater. From that mo- 
ment the fame of Adrienne spread throughout all 
Paris. The courtyard was crowded by gentlemen 
and ladies, by people of distinction from the court, 
and at last even by actors and actresses from the 
Comedie Francaise. 

It is, in fact, a remarkable tribute to Adrienne 
that in her thirteenth year she excited so much 
jealousy among the actors of the Comedie that they 
evoked the law against her. Theaters required a 
royal license, and of course poor little Adrienne's 
company had none. Hence legal proceedings were 
begun, and the most famous actresses in Paris 
talked of having these clever children imprisoned! 
Upon this the company sought the precincts of the 
Temple, where no legal warrant could be served 
without the express order of the king himself. 

There for a time the performances still went on. 
Finally, as the other children were not geniuses, 
but merely boys and girls in search of fun, the little 
company broke up. Its success, however, had de- 
termined for ever the career of Adrienne. With her 
beautiful face, her lithe and exquisite figure, her 

"3 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

golden voice, and her instinctive art, it was plain 
enough that her future lay upon the stage; and so 
at fourteen or fifteen she began where most actresses 
leave off — accomplished and attractive, and having 
had a practical training in her profession. 

Diderot, in that same century, observed that the 
truest actor is one who does not feel his part at all, 
but produces his effects by intellectual effort and 
intelligent observation. Behind the figure on the 
stage, torn with passion or rollicking with mirth, 
there must always be the cool and unemotional 
mind which directs and governs and controls. This 
same theory was both held and practised by the 
late Benoit Constant Coquelin. To some extent it 
was the theory of Garrick and Fechter and Edwin 
Booth; though it was rejected by the two Keans, 
and by Edwin Forrest, who entered so thoroughly 
into the character which he assumed, and who let- 
loose such tremendous bursts of passion that other 
actors dreaded to support him on the stage in such 
parts as Spartacus and Metamora. 

It is needless to say that a girl like Adrienne 
Lecouvreur flung herself with all the intensity of 
her nature into every r61e she played. This was 
the greatest secret of her success; for, with her, 
nature rose superior to art. On the other hand, 
it fixed her dramatic limitations, for it barred her 
out of comedy. Her melancholy, morbid disposition 
was in the fullest sympathy with tragic heroines; 
but she failed when she tried to represent the lighter 
moods and the merry moments of those who wel- 
come mirth. She could counterfeit despair, and 
unforced tears would fill her eyes; but she could 
not laugh and romp and simulate a gaiety that was 
never hers. 

114 



ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR 

Adrienne would have been delighted to act at 
one of the theaters in Paris; but they were closed 
to her through jealousy. She went into the prov- 
inces, in the eastern part of France, and for ten 
years she was a leading lady there in many com- 
panies and in many towns. As she blossomed into 
womanhood there came into her life the love which 
was to be at once a source of the most profound in- 
terest and of the most intense agony. 

It is odd that all her professional success never 
gave her any happiness. The life of the actress who 
traveled from town to town, the crude and coarse 
experiences which she had to undergo, the disorder 
and the unsettled mode of living, all produced in 
her a profound disgust. She was of too exquisite 
a fiber to live in such a way, especially in a century 
when the refinements of existence were for the very 
few. 

She speaks herself of "obligatory amusements, 
the insistence of men, and of love affairs." Yet how 
could such a woman as Adrienne Lecouvreur keep 
herself from love affairs? The emotion of the stage 
and its mimic griefs satisfied her only while she was 
actually upon the boards. Love offered her an emo- 
tional excitement that endured and that was always 
changing. It was "the profoundest instinct of her 
being"; and she once wrote: "What could one do 
in the world without loving?" 

Still, through these ten years she seems to have 
loved only that she might be unhappy. There was 
a strange twist in her mind. Men who were honor- 
able and who loved her with sincerity she treated 
very badly. Men who were indifferent or un- 
grateful or actually base she seemed to choose by 
a sort of perverse instinct. Perhaps the explanation 

115 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

of it is that during those ten years, though she had 
many lovers, she never really loved. She sought 
excitement, passion, and after that the mournful- 
ness which comes when passion dies. Thus, one 
man after another came into her life — some of them 
promising marriage — and she bore two children, 
whose fathers were unknown, or at least uncertain. 
But, after all, one can scarcely pity her, since she 
had not yet in reality known that great passion 
which comes but once in life. So far she had learned 
only a sort of feeble cynicism, which she expressed 
in letters and in such sayings as these: 

"There are sweet errors which I would not ven- 
ture to commit again. My experiences, all too sad, 
have served to illumine my reason." 

"I am utterly weary of love and prodigiously 
tempted to have no more of it for the rest of my 
life; because, after all, I don't wish either to die or 
to go mad." 

Yet she also said: "I know too well that no one 
dies of grief." 

She had had, indeed, some very unfortunate ex- 
periences. Men of rank had loved her and had 
then cast her off. An actor, one Clavel, would have 
married her, but she would not accept his offer. A 
magistrate in Strasburg promised marriage; and 
then, when she was about to accept him, he wrote 
to her that he was going to yield to the wishes of 
his family and make a more advantageous alliance. 
And so she was alternately caressed and repulsed 
— a mere plaything; and yet this was probably 
all that she really needed at the time — something 
to stir her, something to make her mournful or in- 
dignant or ashamed. 

It was inevitable that at last Adrienne Lecouvreur 

116 



ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR 

should appear in Paris. She had won such renown 
throughout the provinces that even those who were 
intensely jealous of her were obliged to give her due 
consideration. In 1 7 1 7, when she was in her twenty- 
fifth year, she became a member of the Comedie 
Franchise. There she made an immediate and most 
brilliant impression. She easily took the leading 
place. She was one of the glories of Paris, for she 
became the fashion outside the theater. For the 
first time the great classic plays were given, not in 
the monotonous singsong which had become a sort 
of theatrical convention, but with all the fire and 
naturalness of life. 

Being the fashion, Mile. Lecouvreur elevated the 
social rank of actors and of actresses. Her salon 
was thronged by men and women of rank. Vol- 
taire wrote poems in her honor. To be invited to 
her dinners was almost like receiving a decoration 
from the king. She ought to have been happy, for 
she had reached the summit of her profession and 
something more. 

Yet still she was unhappy. In all her letters one 
finds a plaintive tone, a little moaning sound that 
shows how slightly her nature had been changed. 
No longer, however, did she throw herself away 
upon dullards or brutes. An English peer — Lord 
Peterborough — not realizing that she was different 
from other actresses of that loose-lived age, said to 
her coarsely at his first introduction: 

"Come now! Show me lots of wit and lots of 
love." 

The remark was characteristic of the time. Yet 
Adrienne had learned at least one thing, and that 
was the discontent which came from light affairs. 
She had thrown herself away too often, If she 

117 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

eould not love with her entire being, if she could 
not give all that was in her to be given, whether of 
her heart or mind or soul, then she would love no 
more at all. 

At this time there came to Paris a man remarkable 
in his own century, and one who afterward became 
almost a hero of romance. This was Maurice, 
Comte de Saxe, as the French called him, his Ger- 
man name and title being Moritz, Graf von Sach- 
sen, while we usually term him, in English, Marshal 
Saxe. Maurice de Saxe was now, in 1721, entering 
his twenty-fifth year. Already, though so young, 
his career had been a strange one; and it was des- 
tined to be still more remarkable. He was the nat- 
ural son of Duke Augustus II. of Saxony, who later 
became King of Poland, and who is known in his- 
tory as Augustus the Strong. 

Augustus was a giant in stature and in strength, 
handsome, daring, unscrupulous, and yet extremely 
fascinating. His life was one of revelry and fighting 
and display. When in his cups he would often call 
for a horseshoe and twist it into a knot with his 
powerful fingers. Many were his mistresses; but 
the one for whom he cared the most was a beautiful 
and high-spirited Swedish girl of rank, Aurora von 
Konigsmarck. She was descended from a rough old 
field-marshal who in the Thirty Years' War had 
slashed and sacked and pillaged and plundered to 
his heart's content. From him Aurora von Konigs- 
marck seemed to have inherited a high spirit and 
a sort of lawlessness which charmed the stalwart 
Augustus of Poland. 

Their son, Maurice de Saxe, inherited everything 
that was good in his parents, and a great deal that 
was less commendable. As a mere child of twelve 

118 



ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR 

he had insisted on joining the army of Prince Eu- 
gene, and had seen rough service in a very strenuous 
campaign. Two years later, when he was fourteen, 
he showed such impetuous daring on the battle- 
field that Prince Eugene summoned him and paid 
him a compliment under the form of a rebuke. 

"Young man/' he said, "you must not mistake 
mere recklessness for valor." 

Before he was twenty he had attained the stature 
and strength of his royal father; and, to prove it, 
he in his turn called for a horseshoe, which he twisted 
and broke in his fingers. He fought on the side of 
the Russians and Poles, and again against the Turks, 
everywhere displaying high courage and also genius 
as a commander; for he never lost his self-posses- 
sion amid the very blackest danger, but possessed, 
as Carlyle says, "vigilance, foresight, and sagacious 
precaution." 

Exceedingly handsome, Maurice was a master of 
all the arts that pleased, with just a touch of rough- 
ness, which seemed not unfitting in so gallant a sol- 
dier. His troops adored him and would follow 
wherever he might choose to lead them; for he ex- 
ercised over these rude men a magnetic power re- 
sembling that of Napoleon in after years. In pri- 
vate life he was a hard drinker and fond of every 
form of pleasure. Having no fortune of his own, a 
marriage was arranged for him with the Countess 
von Loben, who was immensely wealthy; but in 
three years he had squandered all her money upon 
his pleasures, and had, moreover, got himself heavily 
in debt. 

It was at this time that he first came to Paris to 
study military tactics. He had fought hard against 
the French in the wars that were now ended; but 

119 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

his chivalrous bearing, his handsome person, and 
his reckless joviality made him at once a universal 
favorite in Paris. To the perfumed courtiers, with 
their laces and lovelocks and mincing ways, Maurice 
de Saxe came as a sort of knight of old — jovial, 
daring, pleasure-loving. Even his broken French 
was held to be quite charming ; and to see him break 
a horseshoe with his fingers threw every one into 
raptures. 

No wonder, then, that he was welcomed in the 
very highest circles. Almost at once he attracted 
the notice of the Princesse de Conti, a beautiful 
woman of the blood royal. Of her it has been said 
that she was ''the personification of a kiss, the in- 
carnation of an embrace, the ideal of a dream of 
love." Her chestnut hair was tinted with little 
gleams of gold. Her eyes were violet black. Her 
complexion was dazzling. But by the king's orders 
she had been forced to marry a hunchback — a man 
whose very limbs were so weakened by disease and 
evil living that they would often fail to support 
him, and he would fall to the ground, a writhing, 
screaming mass of ill-looking flesh. 

It is not surprising that his lovely wife should 
have shuddered much at his abuse of her and still 
more at his grotesque endearments. When her eyes 
fell on Maurice de Saxe she saw in him one who 
could free her from her bondage. By a skilful trick 
he led the Prince de Conti to invade the sleeping- 
room of the princess, with servants, declaring that 
she was not alone. The charge proved quite un- 
true, and so she left her husband, having won the 
sympathy of her own world, which held that she 
had been insulted. But it was not she who was 
destined to win and hold the love of Maurice de Saxe. 

120 



ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR 

Not long after his appearance in the French capi- 
tal he was invited to dine with the "Queen of Paris," 
Adrienne Lecouvreur. Saxe had seen her on the 
stage. He knew her previous history. He knew 
that she was very much of a soiled dove; but when 
he met her these two natures, so utterly dissimilar, 
leaped together, as it were, through the indescrib- 
able attraction of opposites. He was big and power- 
ful; she was small and fragile. He was merry, and 
full of quips and jests; she was reserved and mel- 
ancholy. Each felt in the other a need supplied. 

At one of their earliest meetings the climax came. 
Saxe was not the man to hesitate; while she already, 
in her thoughts, had made a full surrender. In one 
great sweep he gathered her into his arms. It ap- 
peared to her as if no man had ever laid his hand 
upon her until that moment. She cried out: 

"Now, for the first time in my life, I seem to live!" 

It was, indeed, the very first love which in her 
checkered career was really worthy of the name. 
She had supposed that all such things were passed 
and gone, that her heart was closed for ever, that 
she was invulnerable; and yet here she found her- 
self clinging about the neck of this impetuous soldier 
and showing him all the shy fondness and the un- 
selfish devotion of a young girl. From this instant 
Adrienne Lecouvreur never loved another man and 
never even looked at any other man with the slight- 
est interest. For nine long years the two were bound 
together, though there were strange events to ruffle 
the surface of their love. 

Maurice de Saxe had been sired by a king. He 

had the lofty ambition to be a king himself, and he 

felt the stirrings of that genius which in after years 

was to make him a great soldier, and to win the 

9 121 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

brilliant victory of Fontenoy, which to this very 
day the French are never tired of recalling. Al- 
ready Louis XV. had made him a marshal of France ; 
and a certain restlessness came over him. He loved 
Adrienne; yet he felt that to remain in the enjoy- 
ment of her witcheries ought not to be the whole 
of a man's career. 

Then the Grand Duchy of Courland — at that 
time a vassal state of Poland, now part of Russia — 
sought a ruler. Maurice de Saxe was eager to secure 
its throne, which would make him at least semi- 
royal and the chief of a principality. He hastened 
thither and found that money was needed to carry 
out his plans. The widow of the late duke — the 
Grand Duchess Anna, niece of Peter the Great, and 
later Empress of Russia — as soon as she had met 
this dazzling genius, offered to help him to acquire 
the duchy if he would only marry her. He did not 
utterly refuse. Still another woman of high rank, 
the Grand Duchess Elizabeth of Russia, Peter the 
Great's daughter, made him very much the same 
proposal. 

Both of these imperial women might well have 
attracted a man like Maurice de Saxe, had he been 
wholly fancy-free, for the second of them inherited 
the high spirit and the genius of the great Peter, 
while the first was a pleasure-seeking princess, re- 
sembling some of those Roman empresses who loved 
to stoop that they might conquer. She is described 
as indolent and sensual, and she once declared that 
the chief good in the world was love. Yet, though 
she neglected affairs of state and gave them over to 
favorites, she won and kept the affections of her 
people. She was unquestionably endowed with the 
magnetic gift of winning hearts. 

122 



ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR 

Adrienne, who was left behind in Paris, knew very- 
little of what was going on. Only two things were 
absolutely clear to her. One was that if her lover 
secured the duchy he must be parted from her. 
The other was that without money his ambition 
must be thwarted, and that he would then return 
to her. Here was a test to try the soul of any 
woman. It proved the height and the depth of her 
devotion. Come what might, Maurice should be 
Duke of Courland, even though she lost him. She 
gathered together her whole fortune, sold every 
jewel that she possessed, and sent her lover the sum 
of nearly a million francs. 

This incident shows how absolutely she was his. 
But in fact, because of various intrigues, he failed 
of election to the ducal throne of Courland, and he 
returned to Adrienne with all her money spent, 
and without even the grace, at first, to show his 
gratitude. He stormed and raged over his ill luck. 
She merely soothed and petted him, though she had 
heard that he had thought of marrying another 
woman to secure the dukedom. In one of her let- 
ters she bursts out with the pitiful exclamation: 

I am distracted with rage and anguish. Is it not natural 
to cry out against such treachery? This man surely ought to 
know me — he ought to love me. Oh, my God! What are we 
— what are we? 

But still she could not give him up, nor could he 
give her up, though there were frightful scenes be- 
tween them — times when he cruelly reproached her 
and when her native melancholy deepened into 
outbursts of despair. Finally there occurred an 
incident which is more or less obscure in parts. The 
Duchesse de Bouillon, a great lady of the court— 

123 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

facile, feline, licentious, and eager for delights — 
resolved that she would win the love of Maurice de 
Saxe. vShe set herself to win it openly and without 
any sense of shame. Maurice himself at times, when 
the tears of Adrienne proved wearisome, flirted with 
the duchess. 

Yet, even so, Adrienne held the first place in his 
heart, and her rival knew it. Therefore she resolved 
to humiliate Adrienne, and to do so in the place 
where the actress had always reigned supreme. 
There was to be a gala performance of Racine's 
great tragedy, "Phedre," with Adrienne, of course, 
in the title-role. The Duchesse de Bouillon sent 
a large number of her lackeys with orders to hiss 
and jeer, and, if possible, to break off the play. 
Malignantly delighted with her plan, the duchess 
arrayed herself in jewels and took her seat in a con- 
spicuous stage-box, where she could watch the com- 
ing storm and gloat over the discomfiture of her rival. 

When the curtain rose, and when Adrienne ap- 
peared as Phedre, an uproar began. It was clear 
to the great actress that a plot had been devised 
against her. In an instant her whole soul was afire. 
The queen-like majesty of her bearing compelled 
silence throughout the house. Even the hired lackeys 
were overawed by it. Then Adrienne moved swiftly 
across the stage and fronted her enemy, speaking 
into her very face the three insulting lines which 
came to her at that moment of the play: 

I am not of those women void of shame, 
Who, savoring in crime the joys of peace, 
Harden their faces till they cannot blush! 

The whole house rose and burst forth into tre- 
mendous applause. Adrienne had won, for the 

124 



ADRIENNE LECOUVREUR 

woman who had tried to shame her rose in trepida- 
tion and hurried from the theater. 

But the end was not yet. Those were evil times, 
when dark deeds were committed by the great al- 
most with impunity. Secret poisoning was a com- 
mon trade. To remove a rival was as usual a thing 
in the eighteenth century as to snub a rival is usual 
in the twentieth. 

Not long afterward, on the night of March 15, 
1730, Adrienne Lecouvreur was acting in one of 
Voltaire's plays with all her power and instinctive 
art when suddenly she was seized with the most 
frightful pains. Her anguish was obvious to every 
one who saw her, and yet she had the courage to 
go through her part. Then she fainted and was 
carried home too weak to raise her arms. 

Four days later she died, and her death was no 
less dramatic than her life had been. Her lover and 
two friends of his were with her, and also a Jesuit 
priest. He declined to administer extreme unction 
unless she would declare that she repented of her 
theatrical career. She stubbornly refused, since 
she believed that to be the greatest actress of her 
time was not a sin. Yet still the priest insisted. 

Then came the final moment. 

" Weary and revolting against this death, this 
destiny, she stretched her arms with one of the old 
lovely gestures toward a bust which stood near by 
and cried — her last cry of passion: 

" 'There is my world, my hope — yes, and my 
God!'" 

The bust was one of Maurice de Saxe. 



THE STORY OF PRINCE 
CHARLES EDWARD STUART 



THE STORY OF PRINCE CHARLES 
EDWARD STUART 

THE royal families of Europe are widely known, 
yet not all of them are equally renowned. Thus, 
the house of Romanoff, although comparatively 
young, stands out to the mind with a sort of bar- 
baric power, more vividly than the Austrian house 
of Hapsburg, which is the oldest reigning family in 
Europe, tracing its beginnings backward until they 
are lost in the Dark Ages. The Hohenzollerns of 
Prussia are comparatively modern, so far as con- 
cerns their royalty. The offshoots of the Bourbons 
carry on a very proud tradition in the person of 
the King of Spain, although France, which has been 
ruled by so many members of the family, will prob- 
ably never again behold a Bourbon king. The de- 
posed Braganzas bear a name which is ancient, but 
which has a somewhat tinsel sound. 

The Bonapartes, of course, are merely parvenus, 
and they have had the good taste to pretend to no 
antiquity of birth. The first Napoleon, dining at a 
table full of monarchs, when he heard one of them 
deferentially alluding to the Bonaparte family as 
being very old and noble, exclaimed: 

"Pish! My nobility dates from the day of Ma- 
rengo !" 

And the third Napoleon, in announcing his com- 
ing marriage with Mile, de Monti jo, used the very 

129 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

word ''parvenu" in speaking of himself and of his 
family. His frankness won the hearts of the French 
people and helped to reconcile them to a marriage 
in which the bride was barely noble. 

In English history there are two great names to 
conjure by, at least to the imaginative. One is 
Plantagenet, which seems to contain within itself 
the very essence of all that is patrician, magnificent, 
and royal. It calls to memory at once the lion- 
hearted Richard, whose short reign was replete with 
romance in England and France and Austria and 
the Holy Land. 

But perhaps a name of greater influence is that 
which links the royal family of Britain to-day with 
the traditions of the past, and which summons up 
legend and story and great deeds of history. This 
is the name of Stuart, about which a whole volume 
might be written to recall its suggestions and its 
reminiscences. 

The first Stuart (then Stewart) of whom anything 
is known got his name from the title of "Steward 
of Scotland," which remained in the family for gen- 
erations, until the sixth of the line, by marriage with 
Princess Marjory Bruce, acquired the Scottish crown. 
That was in the early years of the fourteenth cen- 
tury; and finally, after the death of Elizabeth of 
England, her rival's son, James VI. of Scotland and 
I. of England, united under one crown two king- 
doms that had so long been at almost constant war. 

It is almost a characteristic of the Scot that, hav- 
ing small territory, little wealth, and a seat among 
his peers that is almost ostentatiously humble, he 
should bit by bit absorb the possessions of all the 
rest and become master of them all. Surely, the 
proud Tudors, whose line ended with Elizabeth, 

130 



PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD STUART 

must have despised the "Stewards," whose king- 
dom was small and bleak and cold, and who could 
not control their own vassals. 

One can imagine also, with Sir Walter Scott, the 
haughty nobles of the English court sneering cov- 
ertly at the awkward, shambling James, pedant 
and bookworm. Nevertheless, his diplomacy was 
almost as good as that of Elizabeth herself; and, 
though he did some foolish things, he was very far 
from being a fool. 

In his appearance James was not unlike Abraham 
Lincoln — an unkingly figure; and yet, like Lincoln, 
when occasion required it he could rise to the dignity 
which makes one feel the presence of a king. He 
was the only Stuart who lacked anything in form 
or feature or external grace. His son, Charles I., 
was perhaps one of the worst rulers that England 
has ever had; yet his uprightness of life, his mel- 
ancholy yet handsome face, his graceful bearing, and 
the strong religious element in his character, to- 
gether with the fact that he was put to death after 
being treacherously surrendered to his enemies — 
all these have combined to make almost a saint of 
him. There are Englishmen to-day who speak of 
him as "the martyr king," and who, on certain days 
of the year, say prayers that beg the Lord's forgive- 
ness because of Charles's execution. 

The members of the so-called League of the White 
Rose, founded to perpetuate English allegiance to 
the direct line of Stuarts, do many things that are 
quite absurd. They refuse to pray for the present 
King of England and profess to think that the Prin- 
cess Mary of Bavaria is the true ruler of Great 
Britain. All this represents that trace of sentiment 
which lingers among the English to-day. They feel 

131 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

that the Stuarts were the last kings of England to 
rule by the grace of God rather than by the grace of 
Parliament. As a matter of fact, the present reign- 
ing family in England is glad to derive its ancient 
strain of royal blood through a Stuart — descended 
on the distaff side from James I., and winding its 
way through Hanover. 

This sentiment for the Stuarts is a thing entirely 
apart from reason and belongs to the realm of poetry 
and romance; yet so strong is it that it has shown 
itself in the most inconsistent fashion. For instance, 
Sir Walter Scott was a devoted adherent of the 
house of Hanover. When George IV. visited Edin- 
burgh, Scott was completely carried away by his 
loyal enthusiasm. He could not see that the man 
before him was a drunkard, libertine, and brag- 
gart. He viewed him as an incarnation of all the 
noble traits that ought to hedge about a king. He 
snatched up a wine-glass from which George had 
just been drinking and carried it away to be an ob- 
ject of reverence for ever after. Nevertheless, in 
his heart, and often in his speech, Scott seemed to 
be a high Tory, and even a Jacobite. 

There are precedents for this. The Empress Eu- 
genie used often to say with a laugh that she was 
the only true royalist at the imperial court of France. 
That was well enough for her in her days of flighti- 
ness and frivolity. No one, however, accused Queen 
Victoria of being frivolous, and she was not sup- 
posed to have a strong sense of humor. None the 
less, after listening to the skirling of the bagpipes 
and to the romantic ballads which were sung in Scot- 
land she is said to have remarked with a sort of sigh : 

"Whenever I hear those ballads I feel that Eng- 
land belongs really to the Stuarts!" 

132 



PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD STUART 

Before Queen Victoria was born, when all the sons 
of George III. were childless, the Duke of Kent was 
urged to marry, so that he might have a family to 
continue the succession. In resenting the suggestion 
he said many things, and among them this was the 
most striking: 

"Why don't you call the Stuarts back to Eng- 
land? They couldn't possibly make a worse mess 
of it than our fellows have!" 

But in the end he yielded to persuasion and mar- 
ried. From this marriage came Victoria, who really 
had the sacred drop of Stuart blood which gave 
England to the Hanoverians; and it was for her to 
redeem the blunders and tyrannies of both houses. 

The fascination of the Stuarts, which has been 
carried overseas to America and the British domin- 
ions, probably began with the striking history of 
Mary Queen of Scots. Her brilliancy and boldness 
and beauty, and especially the pathos of her end, 
have made us see only her intense womanliness, 
which in her own day was the first thing that any 
one observed in her. So, too, with Charles I., ro- 
mantic' figure and knightly gentleman. One regrets 
his death upon the scaffold, even though his exe- 
cution was necessary to the growth of freedom. 

Many people are no less fascinated by Charles II., 
that very different type, with his gaiety, his good- 
fellowship, and his easy-going ways. It is not sur- 
prising that his people, most of whom never saw 
him, were very fond of him, and did not know that 
he was selfish, a loose liver, and almost a vassal of 
the king of France. 

So it is not strange that the Stuarts, with all their 
arts and graces, were very hard to displace. James 
XL, with the aid of the French, fought hard before 

i33 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

the British troops in Ireland broke the backs of both 
his armies and sent him into exile. Again in 1715 
— an episode perpetuated in Thackeray's dramatic 
story of Henry Esmond — came the son of James 
to take advantage of the vacancy caused by the 
death of Queen Anne. But it is perhaps to this 
claimant's son, the last of the militant Stuarts, that 
more chivalrous feeling has been given than to any 
other. 

To his followers he was the Young Chevalier, the 
true Prince of Wales ; to his enemies, the Whigs and 
the Hanoverians, he was "the Pretender." One of 
the most romantic chapters of history is the one 
which tells of that last brilliant dash which he made 
upon the coast of Scotland, landing with but a few 
attendants and rejecting the support of a French 
army. 

"It is not with foreigners," he said, "but with 
my own loyal subjects, that I wish to regain the 
kingdom for my father." 

It was a daring deed, and the spectacular side of 
it has been often commemorated, especially in Sir 
Walter Scott's Waverley. There we see the gal- 
lant prince moving through a sort of military pano- 
rama, in which for a time he was successful. Most 
of the British troops were absent in Flanders, and 
the few regiments that could be mustered to meet 
him were appalled by the ferocity and reckless cour- 
age of the Highlanders, who leaped down like wild- 
cats from their hills and flung themselves with dirk 
and sword upon the British cannon. 

We see Sir John Cope retiring at Falkirk, and the 
astonishing victory of Prestonpans, where disci- 
plined British troops fled in dismay through the 
morning mist, leaving artillery and supplies behind 

i34 



PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD STUART 

them. It is Scott again who shows us the prince, 
master of Edinburgh for a time, while the white 
rose of Stuart royalty held once more the ancient 
keep above the Scottish capital. Then we see the 
Chevalier pressing southward into England, where 
he hoped to raise an English army to support his 
own. But his Highlanders cared nothing for Eng- 
land, and the English — even the Catholic gentry — 
would not rise to support his cause. 

Personally, he had every gift that could win alle- 
giance. Handsome, high-tempered, and brave, he 
could also control his fiery spirit and listen to ad- 
vice, however unpalatable it might be. 

The time was favorable. The British troops had 
been defeated on the Continent by Marshal Saxe, 
of whom I have already written, and by Marshal 
d'Estrees. George II. was a king whom few re- 
spected. He could scarcely speak anything but 
German. He grossly ill-treated his wife. It is said 
that on one occasion, in a fit of temper he actually 
kicked the prime minister. Not many felt any per- 
sonal loyalty to him, and he spent most of his time 
away from England in his other domain of Han- 
over. 

But precisely here was a reason why Englishmen 
were willing to put up with him. As between him 
and the brilliant Stuart there would have been no 
hesitation had the choice been merely one of men; 
but it was believed that the return of the Stuarts 
meant the return of something like absolute govern- 
ment, of taxation without sanction of law, and of 
religious persecution. Under the Hanoverian George 
the English people had begun to exercise a consid- 
erable measure of self-government. Sharp opposi- 
tion in Parliament compelled him time and again 

i3S 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

to yield; and when he was in Hanover the English 
were left to work out the problem of free government. 

Hence, although Prince Charles Edward fasci- 
nated all who met him, and although a small army- 
was raised for his support, still the unromantic, 
common-sense Englishmen felt that things were 
better than in the days gone by, and most of them 
refused to take up arms for the cause which senti- 
mentally they favored. Therefore, although the 
Chevalier stirred all England and sent a thrill 
through the officers of state in London, his soldiers 
gradually deserted, and the Scots insisted on re- 
turning to their own country. Although the Stuart 
troops reached a point as far south as Derby, they 
were soon pushed backward into Scotland, pursued 
by an army of about nine thousand men under the 
Duke of Cumberland, son of George II. 

Cumberland was no soldier; he had been soundly 
beaten by the French on the famous field of Fon- 
tenoy. Yet he had firmness and a sort of over- 
mastering brutality, which, with disciplined troops 
and abundant artillery, were sufficient to win a vic- 
tory over the untrained Highlanders. 

When the battle came &ve thousand of these 
mountaineers went roaring along the English lines, 
with the Chevalier himself at their head. For a 
moment there was surprise. The Duke of Cumber- 
land had been drinking so heavily that he could 
give no verbal orders. One of his officers, however, 
is said to have come to him in his tent, where he 
was trying to play cards. 

1 'What disposition shall we make of the prison- 
ers?" asked the officer. 

The duke tried to reply, but his utterance was 
very thick. 

136 



PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD STUART 

"No quarter!" he was believed to say. 

The officer objected and begged that such an or- 
der as that should be given in writing. The duke 
rolled over and seized a sheaf of playing-cards. 
Pulling one out, he scrawled the necessary order, 
and that was taken to the commanders in the field. 

The Highlanders could not stand the cannon fire, 
and in the end the English won. Then the fury of 
the common soldiery broke loose upon the country. 

There was a reign of fantastic and fiendish brutality. One 
provost of the town was violently kicked for a mild remon- 
strance about the destruction of the Episcopalian meeting- 
house; another was condemned to clean out dirty stables. Men 
and women were whipped and tortured on slight suspicion or 
to extract information. Cumberland frankly professed his con- 
tempt and hatred of the people among whom he found himself, 
but he savagely punished robberies committed by private sol- 
diers for their own profit. 

"Mild measures will not do," he wrote to Newcastle. 

When leaving the North in July, he said: 

"All the good we have done is but a little blood-letting, 
which has only weakened the madness, but not at all cured it; 
and I tremble to fear that this vile spot may still be the ruin 
of this island and of our family. " 

Such was the famous battle of Culloden, fought 
in 1746, and putting a final end to the hopes of all 
the Stuarts. As to Cumberland's order for "No 
quarter,' ' if any apology can be made for such bru- 
tality, it must be found in the fact that the High- 
land chiefs had on their side agreed to spare no 
captured enemy. 

The battle has also left a name commonly given 
to the nine of diamonds, which is called "the curse 
of Scotland," because it is said that on that card 
Cumberland wrote his bloodthirsty order. 

Such, in brief, was the story of Prince Charlie's 

10 137 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

gallant attempt to restore the kingdom of his an- 
cestors. Even when defeated, he would not at once 
leave Scotland. A French squadron appeared off 
the coast near Edinburgh. It had been sent to bring 
him troops and a large supply of money, but he 
turned his back upon it and made his way into the 
Highlands on foot, closely pursued by English sol- 
diers and Lowland spies. 

This part of his career is in reality the most ro- 
mantic of all. He was hunted closely, almost as by 
hounds. For weeks he had only such sleep as he 
could snatch during short periods of safety, and 
there were times when his pursuers came within 
almost an inch of capturing him. But never in his 
life were his spirits so high. As Kipling makes one 
of his characters say of Mowgli, he " loved to pull 
the very whiskers of Death." 

It was a sort of life that he had never seen before, 
roving amid the deep glades, or climbing the mighty 
rocks, and listening to the thunder of the cataracts, 
among which he often slept, with only one faithful 
follower to guard him. The story of his escape is 
almost incredible, but he laughed and drank and 
rolled upon the grass when he was free from care. 
He hobnobbed with the most suspicious-looking cat- 
er ans, with whom he drank the smoky brew of the 
North, and lived as he might on fish and onions and 
bacon and wild fowl, with an appetite such as he 
had never known at the luxurious court of Versailles 
or St. -Germain. 

Amid all this adventure there was a touch of ro- 
mance, which, as the present writer believes, the 
prince would have been glad to develop into some- 
thing more. After the battle of Culloden he would 
have been captured had not a Scottish girl named 

138 



PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD STUART 

Flora Macdonald met him, caused him to be dressed 
in the clothes of her waiting-maid, and thus got him 
off to the Isle of Skye. 

There for a time it was impossible to follow him ; 
and there the two lived almost alone together. Such 
a proximity could not fail to stir the romantic feel- 
ing of one who was both a youth and a prince. On 
the other hand, no thought of love-making seems 
to have entered Flora's mind. If, however, we read 
Campbell's narrative very closely we can see — as, 
perhaps, the author does not — that Prince Charles 
made every advance consistent with a delicate re- 
membrance of her sex and services. 

It seems to have been his thought that if she 
cared for him, then the two might well love; and 
he gave her every chance to show him favor. The 
youth of twenty-five and the girl of twenty-four 
roamed together in the long, tufted grass or lay in 
the sunshine and looked out over the sea. The 
prince would rest his head in her lap, and she would 
tumble his golden hair with her slender fingers and 
sometimes clip off tresses which she preserved to 
give to friends of hers as love-locks. But to the 
last he was either too high or too low for her, ac- 
cording to her own modest thought. He was a royal 
prince, the heir to a throne, or else he was a boy 
with whom she might play quite fancy-free. A 
lover he could not be — so pure and beautiful was 
her thought of him. 

These were perhaps the most delightful days of 
all his life, as they were a beautiful memory in hers. 
In time he returned to France and resumed his 
place amid the intrigues that surrounded that other 
Stuart prince who styled himself James III., and 
still kept up the appearance of a king in exile. As 

i39 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

he watched the artifice and the plotting of these 
make-believe courtiers he may well have thought 
of his innocent companion of the Highland wilds. 

As for Flora, she was arrested and imprisoned 
for five months on English vessels of war. After 
her release she was married, in 1750; and she and 
her husband sailed for the American colonies just 
before the Revolution. In that war Macdonald be- 
came a British officer and served against his adopted 
countrymen. Perhaps because of this reason Flora 
returned alone to Scotland, where she died at the 
age of sixty-eight. 

The royal prince who would have given her his 
easy love lived a life of far less dignity in the years 
that followed his return to France. There was no 
more hope of recovering the English throne. For 
him there were left only the idle and licentious diver- 
sions of such a court as that in which his father lived. 

At the death of James III. even this court was 
disintegrated, and Prince Charles led a roving and 
disreputable life under the title of Earl of Albany. 
In his wanderings he met Louise Marie, the daugh- 
ter of a German prince, Gustavus Adolphus of Stol- 
berg. She was only nineteen years of age when 
she first felt the fascination that he still possessed; 
but it was an unhappy marriage for the girl when 
she discovered that her husband was a confirmed 
drunkard. 

Not long after, in fact, she found her life with him 
so utterly intolerable that she persuaded the Pope 
to allow her a formal separation. The pontiff in- 
trusted her to her husband's brother, Cardinal York, 
who placed her in a convent and presently removed 
her to his own residence in Rome. 

Here begins another romance. She was often 

140 



PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD STUART 

visited by Vittorio Alfieri, the great Italian poet 
and dramatist. Alfieri was a man of wealth. In 
early years he divided his time into alternate periods 
during which he either studied hard in civil and 
canonical law, or was a constant attendant upon 
the race-course, or rushed aimlessly all over Europe 
without any object except to wear out the post- 
horses which he used in relays over hundreds of 
miles of road. His life, indeed, was eccentric almost 
to insanity; but when he had met the beautiful 
and lonely Countess of Albany there came over him 
a striking change. She influenced him for all that 
was good, and he used to say that he owed her all 
that was best in his dramatic works. 

Sixteen years after her marriage her royal hus- 
band died, a worn-out, bloated wreck of one who 
had been as a youth a model of knightliness and 
manhood. During his final years he had fallen to 
utter destitution, and there was either a touch of 
half contempt or a feeling of remote kinship in the 
act of George III., who bestowed upon the prince 
an annual pension of four thousand pounds. It 
showed most plainly that England was now consoli- 
dated under Hanoverian rule. 

When Cardinal York died, in 1807, there was no 
Stuart left in the male line; and the countess was 
the last to bear the royal Scottish name of Albany. 

After the prince's death his widow is said to have 
been married to Alfieri, and for the rest of her life 
she lived in Florence, though Alfieri died nearly 
twenty-one years before her. 

Here we have seen a part of the romance which 
attaches itself to the name of Stuart — in the chival- 
rous young prince, leading his Highlanders against 
the bayonets of the British, lolling idly among the 

141 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Hebrides, or fallen, at the last, to be a drunkard 
and the husband of an unwilling consort, who in 
her turn loved a famous poet. But it is this Stuart, 
after all, of whom we think when we hear the bag- 
pipes skirling "Over the Water to Charlie" or 
"Wha'll be King but Charlie?" 



THE EMPRESS CATHARINE 
AND PRINCE POTEMKIN 



THE EMPRESS CATHARINE AND PRINCE 
POTEMKIN 

IT has often been said that the greatest French- 
man who ever lived was in reality an Italian. 
It might with equal truth be asserted that the 
greatest Russian woman who ever lived was in 
reality a German. But the Emperor Napoleon and 
the Empress Catharine II. resemble each other in 
something else. Napoleon, though Italian in blood 
and lineage, made himself so French in sympathy 
and understanding as to be able to play upon the 
imagination of all France as a great musician plays 
upon a splendid instrument, with absolute sureness 
of touch and an ability to extract from it every one 
of its varied harmonies. So the Empress Catharine 
of Russia — perhaps the greatest woman who ever 
ruled a nation — -though born of German parents, be- 
came Russian to the core and made herself the em- 
bodiment of Russian feeling and Russian aspiration. 
At the middle of the eighteenth century Russia 
was governed by the Empress Elizabeth, daughter 
of Peter the Great. In her own time, and for a long 
while afterward, her real capacity was obscured by 
her apparent indolence, her fondness for display, 
and her seeming vacillation; but now a very high 
place is accorded her in the history of Russian rulers. 
She softened the brutality that had reigned supreme 
in Roissia. She patronized the arts. Her armies 

145 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

twice defeated Frederick the Great and raided his 
capital, Berlin. Had Elizabeth lived, she would 
probably have crushed him. 

In her early years this imperial woman had been 
betrothed to Louis XV. of France, but the match 
was broken off. Subsequently she entered into a 
morganatic marriage and bore a son who, of course, 
could not be her heir. In 1742, therefore, she looked 
about for a suitable successor and chose her nep- 
hew, Prince Peter of Holstein-Gottorp. 

Peter, then a mere youth of seventeen, was de- 
lighted with so splendid a future, and came at once 
to St. Petersburg. The empress next sought for a 
girl who might marry the young prince and thus 
become the future Czarina. She thought first of 
Frederick the Great's sister; but Frederick shrank 
from this alliance, though it would have been of 
much advantage to him. He loved his sister — in- 
deed, she was one of the few persons for whom he 
ever really cared. So he declined the offer and sug- 
gested instead the young Princess Sophia of the 
tiny duchy of Anhalt-Zerbst. 

The reason for Frederick's refusal was his knowl- 
edge of the semi-barbarous conditions that prevailed 
at the Russian court. He was unwilling to have his 
sister undergo an experience which he well knew 
would be a shocking one ; and his decision was cred- 
itable both to his intelligence and to his heart. Rus- 
sia was, in fact, a wild and savage land, into which 
a knowledge of western civilization was only just 
beginning to penetrate. Its nobles were for the 
most part little better than wild boars, living on 
their vast estates and giving full play to every form 
of vice and cruelty, since each was the lord of count- 
less serfs whose lives were in their masters' hands. 

146 



EMPRESS CATHARINE OF RUSSIA 

Such government as existed, even in the capital, 
was an oriental sort of regime, maintained by knout - 
ing and by torture. 

The new capital itself, where the empress held her 
court, and which had been erected and named in 
honor of Peter the Great, was far from being a city 
such as western countries knew. Its population was 
less than seventy-five thousand souls. It was squalid 
and raw, a fantastic contrast of palaces and hovels. 
Rambaud has strikingly described it as "a sort of 
forest of ill fame." Trees grew in the very streets, 
while stumps, still charred and hacked, showed how 
recently it had been a wood. At night, and in the 
winter, bears prowled through the highways. 

In this strange capital, amid the huts and tents, 
there had been built the splendid Winter Palace, 
and, oddly enough, a palace for the Academy of 
Sciences, while already work had been begun upon 
the Tsarskoye Selo, that abode of luxury which was 
to rival Versailles. 

St. Petersburg had few industries — perhaps a hun- 
dred shops and small abodes for artisans. Never- 
theless, within the Winter Palace the empress lived 
in a state of extraordinary magnificence. From 
France and Germany, as well as from the East, swift 
couriers brought her everything that could gratify 
the imperial wishes. She caused a theater to be 
built, and imported foreign companies of actors and 
singers; yet the Russian taste was still so barbar- 
ous and untrained that no spectators entered the 
playhouse except when the servants of the empress 
went out into the street with clubs and compelled 
reluctant wayfarers to attend the operas and come- 
dies under penalty of being beaten into pulp. 

The Russian capital, then, was a bizarre, half- 

147 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

civilized, half-oriental place, where, among the very 
highest-born, a thin veneer of French elegance cov- 
ered every form of brutality and savagery and lust. 
It is not surprising, therefore, that Frederick the 
Great was unwilling to have his sister plunged into 
such a life. 

But when the Empress Elizabeth asked the Prin- 
cess Sophia of Anhalt-Zerbst to marry the heir to 
the Russian throne the young girl willingly accepted, 
the more so as her mother practically commanded 
it. This mother of hers was a grim, harsh German 
woman who had reared her daughter in the strictest 
fashion, depriving her of all pleasure with a truly 
puritanical severity. In the case of a different sort 
of girl this training would have crushed her spirit; 
but the Princess Sophia, though gentle and rpined 
in manner, had a power of endurance which was 
toughened and strengthened by the discipline she 
underwent. 

And so in 1744, when she was but sixteen years 
of age, she was taken by her mother to St. Peters- 
burg. There she renounced the Lutheran faith and 
was received into the Greek Church, changing her 
name to Catharine. Soon after, with great magnifi- 
cence, she was married to Prince Peter, and from 
that moment began a career which was to make her 
the most powerful woman in the world. 

At this time a lady of the Russian court wrote 
down a description of Catharine's appearance. She 
was fair-haired, with dark-blue eyes; and her face, 
though never beautiful, was made piquant and 
striking by the fact that her brows were very dark 
in contrast with her golden hair. Her complexion 
was not clear, yet her look was a very pleasing one. 
She had a certain diffidence of manner at first; but 

148 




CATHARINE II., EMPRESS OF RUSSIA 



EMPRESS CATHARINE OF RUSSIA 

later she bore herself with such instinctive dignity 
as to make her seem majestic, though in fact she was 
beneath the middle size. At the time of her mar- 
riage her figure was slight and graceful; only in 
after years did she become stout. She had beauti- 
ful hands and arms. Altogether, she came to St. 
Petersburg an attractive, pure-minded German maid- 
en, with a character well disciplined, and possessing 
reserves of power which had not yet been drawn 
upon. 

Frederick the Great's forebodings, which had led 
him to withhold his sister's hand, were almost im- 
mediately justified in the case of Catharine. Her 
Russian husband revealed to her a mode of life 
which must have tried her very soul. This youth 
was only seventeen — a mere boy in age, and yet a 
full-grown man in the rank luxuriance of his vices. 
Moreover, he had eccentricities which sometimes 
verged upon insanity. Too young to be admitted 
to the councils of his imperial aunt, he occupied his 
time in ways that were either ridiculous or vile. 

Next to the sleeping-room of his wife he kept a 
set of kennels, with a number of dogs, which he 
spent hours in drilling as if they had been soldiers. 
He had a troop of rats which he also drilled. It 
was his delight to summon a court martial of his 
dogs to try the rats for various military offenses, 
and then to have the culprits executed, leaving their 
bleeding carcasses upon the floor. At any hour of 
the day or night Catharine, hidden in her chamber, 
could hear the yapping of the curs, the squeak of 
rats, and the word of command given by her half- 
idiot husband. 

When wearied of this diversion Peter would sum- 
mon a troop of favorites, both men and women, 

149 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

and with them he would drink deep of beer and 
vodka, since from his early childhood he had been 
both a drunkard and a debauchee. The whoops 
and howls and vile songs of his creatures could be 
heard by Catharine; and sometimes he would stag- 
ger into her rooms, accompanied by his drunken 
minions. With a sort of psychopathic perversity 
he would insist on giving Catharine the most minute 
and repulsive narratives of his amours, until she 
shrank from him with horror at his depravity and 
came to loathe the sight of his bloated face, with 
its little, twinkling, porcine eyes, his upturned nose 
and distended nostrils, and his loose-hung, lascivi- 
ous mouth. She was scarcely less repelled when a 
wholly different mood would seize upon him and 
he would declare himself her slave, attending her 
at court functions in the garb of a servant and pro- 
fessing an unbounded devotion for his bride. 

Catharine's early training and her womanly na- 
ture led her for a long time to submit to the caprices 
of her husband. In his saner moments she would 
plead with him and strive to interest him in some- 
thing better than his dogs and rats and venal mis- 
tresses ; but Peter was incorrigible. Though he had 
moments of sense and even of good feeling, these 
never lasted, and after them he would plunge head- 
long into the most frantic excesses that his half- 
crazed imagination could devise. 

It is not strange that in course of time Cathar- 
ine's strong good sense showed her that she could 
do nothing with this creature. She therefore gradu- 
ally became estranged from him and set herself to 
the task of doing those things which Peter was in- 
capable of carrying out. 

She saw that ever since the first awakening of 

150 



EMPRESS CATHARINE OF RUSSIA 

Russia under Peter the Great none of its rulers had 
been genuinely Russian, but had tried to force upon 
the Russian people various forms of western civili- 
zation which were alien to the national spirit. Peter 
the Great had striven to make his people Dutch. 
Elizabeth had tried to make them French. Cath- 
arine, with a sure instinct, resolved that they should 
remain Russian, borrowing what they needed from 
other peoples, but stirred always by the Slavic spirit 
and swayed by a patriotism that was their own. 
To this end she set herself to become Russian. She 
acquired the Russian language patiently and ac- 
curately. She adopted the Russian costume, ap- 
pearing, except on state occasions, in a simple gown 
of green, covering her fair hair, however, with a 
cap powdered with diamonds. Furthermore, she 
made friends of such native Russians as were gifted 
with talent, winning their favor, and, through them, 
the favor of the common people. 

It would have been strange, however, had Cath- 
arine, the woman, escaped the tainting influences 
that surrounded her on every side. The infidelities 
of Peter gradually made her feel that she owed him 
nothing as his wife. Among the nobles there were 
men whose force of character and of mind attracted 
her inevitably. Chastity was a thing of which the 
average Russian had no conception; and therefore 
it is not strange that Catharine, with her intense 
and sensitive nature, should have turned to some 
of these for the love which she had sought in vain 
from the half imbecile to whom she had been mar- 
ried. 

Much has been written of this side of her earlier 
and later life; yet, though it is impossible to deny 
that she had favorites, one should judge very gently 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

the conduct of a girl so young and thrust into a life 
whence all the virtues seemed to be excluded. She 
bore several children before her thirtieth year, and 
it is very certain that a grave doubt exists as to 
their paternity. Among the nobles of the court 
were two whose courage and virility specially at- 
tracted her. The one with whom her name has 
been most often coupled was Gregory Orloff. He 
and his brother, Alexis Orloff, were Russians of the 
older type — powerful in frame, suave in manner ex- 
cept when roused, yet with a tigerish ferocity slum- 
bering underneath. Their power fascinated Cath- 
arine, and it was currently declared that Gregory 
Orloff was her lover. 

When she was in her thirty-second year her hus- 
band was proclaimed Czar, after the death of the 
Empress Elizabeth. At first in some ways his ele- 
vation seemed to sober him; but this period of 
sanity, like those which had come to him before, 
lasted only a few weeks. Historians have given him 
much credit for two great reforms that are con- 
nected with his name ; and yet the manner in which 
they were actually brought about is rather ludicrous. 
He had shut himself up with his favorite revelers, and 
had remained for several days drinking and carous- 
ing until he scarcely knew enough to speak. At 
this moment a young officer named Gudovitch, who 
was really loyal to the newly created Czar, burst 
into the banquet-hall, booted and spurred and his 
eyes aflame with indignation. Standing before Peter, 
his voice rang out with the tone of a battle trumpet, 
so that the sounds of revelry were hushed. 

" Peter Feodorovitch," he cried, "do you prefer 
these swine to those who really wish to serve you? 
Is it in this way that you imitate the glories of your 

152 



EMPRESS CATHARINE OF RUSSIA 

ancestor, that illustrious Peter whom you have sworn 
to take as your model? It will not be long before 
your people's love will be changed to hatred. Rise 
up, my Czar! Shake off this lethargy and sloth. 
Prove that you are worthy of the faith which I and 
others have given you so loyally !" 

With these words Gudovitch thrust into Peter's 
trembling hand two proclamations, one abolishing 
the secret bureau of police, which had become an 
instrument of tyrannous oppression, and the other 
restoring to the nobility many rights of which they 
had been deprived. 

The earnestness and intensity of Gudovitch tem- 
porarily cleared the brain of the drunken Czar. 
He seized the papers, and, without reading them, 
hastened at once to his great council, where he de- 
clared that they expressed his wishes. Great was 
the rejoicing in St. Petersburg, and great was the 
praise bestowed on Peter; yet, in fact, he had acted 
only as any drunkard might act under the compulsion 
of a stronger will than his. 

As before, his brief period of good sense was suc- 
ceeded by another of the wildest folly. It was not 
merely that he reversed the wise policy of his aunt, 
but that he reverted to his early fondness for every- 
thing that was German. His bodyguard was made 
up of German troops — thus exciting the jealousy 
of the Russian soldiers. He introduced German 
fashions. He boasted that his father had been an 
officer in the Prussian army. His crazy admiration 
for Frederick the Great reached the utmost verge 
of sycophancy. 

As to Catharine, he turned on her with something 
like ferocity. He declared in public that his eldest 
son, the Czarevitch Paul, was really fathered by 

11 i53 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Catharine's lovers. At a state banquet he turned 
to Catharine and hurled at her a name which no 
woman could possibly forgive — and least of all a 
woman such as Catharine, with her high spirit and 
imperial pride. He thrust his mistresses upon her; 
and at last he ordered her, with her own hand, to 
decorate the Countess Vorontzoff, who was known 
to be his maitresse en tit re. 

It was not these gross insults, however, so much 
as a concern for her personal safety that led Cath- 
arine to take measures for her own defense. She 
was accustomed to Peter's ordinary eccentricities. 
On the ground of his unfaithfulness to her she now 
had hardly any right to make complaint. But she 
might reasonably fear lest he was becoming mad. 
If he questioned the paternity of their eldest son 
he might take measures to imprison Catharine or 
even to destroy her. Therefore she conferred with 
the Orloffs and other gentlemen, and their confer- 
ence rapidly developed into a conspiracy. 

The soldiery, as a whole, was loyal to the empress. 
It hated Peter's Holstein guards. What she planned 
was probably the deposition of Peter. She would 
have liked to place him under guard in some distant 
palace. But while the matter was still under dis- 
cussion she was awakened early one morning by 
Alexis Orloff . He grasped her arm with scant cere- 
mony. 

"We must act at once," said he. "We have been 
betrayed!" 

Catharine was not a woman to waste time. She 
went immediately to the barracks in St. Petersburg, 
mounted upon a charger, and, calling out the Rus- 
sian guards, appealed to them for their support. 
To a man they clashed their weapons and roared 






EMPRESS CATHARINE OF RUSSIA 

forth a thunderous cheer. Immediately afterward 
the priests annointed her as regent in the name of 
her son; but as she left the church she was saluted 
by the people, as well as by the soldiers, as empress 
in her own right. 

It was a bold stroke, and it succeeded down to 
the last detail. The wretched Peter, who was drill- 
ing his German guards at a distance from the capi- 
tal, heard of the revolt, found that his sailors at 
Kronstadt would not acknowledge him, and then 
finally submitted. He was taken to Ropsha and 
confined within a single room. To him came the 
Orloffs, quite of their own accord. Gregory OrlofT 
endeavored to force a corrosive poison into Peter's 
mouth. Peter, who was powerful of build and now 
quite desperate, hurled himself upon his enemies. 
Alexis OrlofT seized him by the throat with a tremen- 
dous clutch and strangled him till the blood gushed 
from his ears. In a few moments the unfortunate 
man was dead. 

Catharine was shocked by the intelligence, but 
she had no choice save to accept the result of ex- 
cessive zeal. She issued a note to the foreign am- 
bassadors informing them that Peter had died of 
a violent colic. When his body was laid out for 
burial the extravasated blood is said to have oozed 
out even through his hands, staining the gloves that 
had been placed upon them. No one believed the 
story of the colic; and some six years later Alexis 
OrlofT told the truth with the utmost composure. 
The whole incident was characteristically Russian. 

It is not within the limits of our space to describe 
the reign of Catharine the Great — the exploits of her 
armies, the acuteness of her statecraft, the vast ad- 
ditions which she made to the Russian Empire, and 

i55 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

the impulse which she gave to science and art and 
literature. Yet these things ought to be remembered 
first of all when one thinks of the woman whom 
Voltaire once styled "the Semiramis of the North." 
Because she was so powerful, because no one could 
gainsay her, she led in private a life which has been 
almost more exploited than her great imperial 
achievements. And yet, though she had lovers 
whose names have been carefully recorded, even 
she fulfilled the law of womanhood — which is to 
love deeply and intensely only once. 

One should not place all her lovers in the same 
category. As a girl, and when repelled by the im- 
becility of Peter, she gave herself to Gregory Orloff . 
She admired his strength, his daring, and his un- 
scrupulousness. But to a woman of her fine intelli- 
gence he came to seem almost more brute than man. 
She could not turn to him for any of those delicate 
attentions which a woman loves so much, nor for 
that larger sympathy which wins the heart as well 
as captivates the senses. A writer of the time has 
said that Orloff would hasten with equal readiness 
from the arms of Catharine to the embraces of any 
fiat-nosed Finn or filthy Calmuck or to the lowest 
creature whom he might encounter in the streets. 

It happened that at the time of Catharine's ap- 
peal to the imperial guards there came to her notice 
another man who — as he proved in a trifling and 
yet most significant manner — had those traits which 
Orloff lacked. Catharine had mounted, man-fashion, 
a cavalry horse, and, with a helmet on her head, 
had reigned up her steed before the barracks. At 
that moment one of the minor nobles, who was also 
favorable to her, observed that her helmet had no 
plume. In a moment his horse was at her side. 

t$6 



EMPRESS CATHARINE OF RUSSIA 

Bowing low over his saddle, he took his own plume 
from his helmet and fastened it to hers. This man 
was Prince Gregory Potemkin, and this slight act 
gives a clue to the influence which he afterward 
exercised over his imperial mistress. 

When Catharine grew weary of the Orloffs, and 
when she had enriched them with lands and treas- 
ures, she turned to Potemkin; and from then until 
the day of his death he was more to her than any 
other man had ever been. With others she might 
flirt and might go even further than flirtation; but 
she allowed no other favorite to share her confidence, 
to give advice, or to direct her policies. 

To other men she made munificent gifts, either 
because they pleased her for the moment or because 
they served her on one occasion or another; but 
to Potemkin she opened wide the whole treasury 
of her vast realm. There was no limit to what she 
would do for him. When he first knew her he was 
a man of very moderate fortune. Within two years 
after their intimate acquaintance had begun she 
had given him nine million rubles, while afterward 
he accepted almost limitless estates in Poland and 
in every province of Greater Russia. 

He was a man of sumptuous tastes, and yet he 
cared but little for mere wealth. What he had he 
used to please or gratify or surprise the woman 
whom he loved. He built himself a great palace in 
St. Petersburg, usually known as the Taurian Palace, 
and there he gave the most sumptuous entertain- 
ments, reversing the story of Antony and Cleopatra. 

In a superb library there stood one case contain- 
ing volumes bound with unusual richness. When 
the empress, attracted by the bindings, drew forth 
a book she found to her surprise that its pages were 

i57 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

English bank-notes. The pages of another proved 
to be Dutch bank-notes, and, of another, notes on 
the Bank of Venice. Of the remaining volumes 
some were of solid gold, while others had pages of 
fine leather in which were set emeralds and rubies 
and diamonds and other gems. The story reads 
like a bit of fiction from the Arabian Nights. Yet, 
after all, this was only a small affair compared with 
other undertakings with which Potemkin sought to 
please her. 

Thus, after Taurida and the Crimea had been 
added to the empire by Potemkin' s agency, Cathar- 
ine set out with him to view her new possessions. 
A great fleet of magnificently decorated galleys bore 
her down the river Dnieper. The country through 
which she passed had been a year before an unoc- 
cupied waste. Now, by Potemkin 's extraordinary 
efforts, the empress found it dotted thick with towns 
and cities which had been erected for the occasion, 
filled with a busy population which swarmed along 
the riverside to greet the sovereign with applause. 
It was only a chain of fantom towns and cities, made 
of painted wood and canvas; but while Catharine 
was there they were very real, seeming to have solid 
buildings, magnificent arches, bustling industries, 
and beautiful stretches of fertile country. No human 
being ever wrought on so great a scale so marvelous 
a miracle of stage-management. 

Potemkin was, in fact, the one man who could 
appeal with unfailing success to so versatile and 
powerful a spirit as Catharine's. He was handsome 
of person, graceful of manner, and with an intellect 
which matched her own. He never tried to force 
her inclination, and, on the other hand, he never 
strove to thwart it. To him, as to no other man, 

158 



EMPRESS CATHARINE OF RUSSIA 

she could turn at any moment and feel that, no mat- 
ter what her mood, he could understand her fully. 
And this, according to Balzac, is the thing that 
woman yearns for most — a kindred spirit that can 
understand without the slightest need of explanation. 

Thus it was that Gregory Potemkin held a place 
in the soul of this great woman such as no one else 
attained. He might be absent, heading armies or 
ruling provinces, and on his return he would be 
greeted with even greater fondness than before. 
And it was this rather than his victories over Turk 
and other oriental enemies that made Catharine 
trust him absolutely. 

When he died, he died as the supreme master of 
her foreign policy and at a time when her word was 
powerful throughout all Europe. Death came upon 
him after he had fought against it with singular 
tenacity of purpose. Catharine had given him a 
magnificent triumph, and he had entertained her in 
his Taurian Palace with a splendor such as even 
Russia had never known before. Then he fell ill, 
though with high spirit he would not yield to illness. 
He ate rich meats and drank rich wines and bore 
himself as gallantly as ever. Yet all at once death 
came upon him while he was traveling in the south 
of Russia. His carriage was stopped, a rug was 
spread beneath a tree by the roadside, and there he 
died, in the country which he had added to the 
realms of Russia. 

The great empress who loved him mourned him 
deeply during the five years of life that still re- 
mained to her. The names of other men for whom 
she had imagined that she cared were nothing to 
her. But this one man lived in her heart in death 
as he had done in life. 

159 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Many have written of Catharine as a great ruler, 
a wise diplomat, a creature of heroic mold. Others 
have depicted her as a royal wanton and have 
gathered together a mass of vicious tales, the gossip 
of the palace kitchens, of the clubs, and of the 
barrack-rooms. But perhaps one finds the chief 
interest of her story to lie in this — that besides 
being empress and diplomat and a lover of pleasure 
she was, beyond all else, at heart a woman. 



MARIE ANTOINETTE AND 
COUNT PERSEN 



MARIE ANTOINETTE AND COUNT PERSEN 

THE English-speaking world long ago accepted a 
conventional view of Marie Antoinette. The 
eloquence of Edmund Burke in one brilliant passage 
has fixed, probably for all time, an enduring picture 
of this unhappy queen. 

When we speak or think of her we speak and 
think first of all of a dazzling and beautiful woman 
surrounded by the chivalry of France and gleam- 
ing like a star in the most splendid court of Europe. 
And then there comes to us the reverse of the picture. 
We see her despised, insulted, and made the butt 
of brutal men and still more fiendish women; until 
at last the hideous tumbrel conveys her to the guil- 
lotine, where her head is severed from her body 
and her corpse is cast down into a bloody pool. 

In these two pictures our emotions are played 
upon in turn — admiration, reverence, devotion, and 
then pity, indignation, and the shudderings of horror. 

Probably in our own country and in England 
this will remain the historic Marie Antoinette. 
Whatever the impartial historian may write, he can 
never induce the people at large to understand that 
this queen was far from queenly, that the popular 
idea of her is almost wholly false, and that both in 
her domestic life and as the greatest lady in France 
she did much to bring on the terrors of that revolu- 
tion which swept her to the guillotine. 

163 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

In the first place, it is mere fiction that represents 
Marie Antoinette as having been physically beauti- 
ful. The painters and engravers have so idealized 
her face as in most cases to have produced a purely 
imaginary portrait. 

She was born in Vienna, in 1755, the daughter 
of the Emperor Francis and of that warrior-queen, 
Marie Theresa. She was a very German-looking 
child. Lady Jackson describes her as having a long, 
thin face, small, pig-like eyes, a pinched-up mouth, 
with the heavy Hapsburg lip, and with a somewhat 
misshapen form, so that for years she had to be 
bandaged tightly to give her a more natural figure. 

At fourteen, when she was betrothed to the heir 
to the French throne, she was a dumpy, mean-looking 
little creature, with no distinction whatever, and with 
only her bright golden hair to make amends for her 
many blemishes. At fifteen she was married and 
joined the Dauphin in French territory. 

We must recall for a moment the conditions which 
prevailed in France. King Louis XV. was nearing 
his end. He was a man of the most shameless life; 
yet he had concealed or gilded his infamies by an 
external dignity and magnificence which were very 
pleasing to his people. The French liked to think 
that their king was the most splendid monarch and 
the greatest gentleman in Europe. The courtiers 
about him might be vile beneath the surface, yet 
they were compelled to deport themselves with the 
form and the etiquette that had become traditional 
in France. They might be panders, or stock-jobbers, 
or sellers of political offices; yet they must none 
the less have wit and grace and outward nobility 
of manner. 

There was also a tradition regarding the French 

164 








MARIE ANTOINETTE 



MARIE ANTOINETTE 

queen. However loose in character the other women 
of the court might be, she alone, like Caesar's wife, 
must remain above suspicion. She must be purer 
than the pure. No breath of scandal must reach 
her or be directed against her. 

In this way the French court, even under so dis- 
solute a monarch as Louis XV., maintained its hold 
upon the loyalty of the people. Crowds came every 
morning to view the king in his bed before he arose; 
the same crowds watched him as he was dressed by 
the gentlemen of the bedchamber, and as he break- 
fasted and went through all the functions which are 
usually private. The King of France must be a great 
actor. He must appear to his people as in reality 
a king — stately, dignified, and beyond all other 
human beings in his remarkable presence. 

When the Dauphin and Marie Antoinette came 
to the French court King Louis XV. kept up in the 
case the same semblance of austerity. He forbade 
these children to have their sleeping-apartments to- 
gether. He tried to teach them that if they were to 
govern as well as to reign they must conform to the 
rigid etiquette of Paris and Versailles. 

It proved a difficult task, however. The little 
German princess had no natural dignity, though 
she came from a court where the very strictest im- 
perial discipline prevailed. Marie Antoinette found 
that she could have her own way in many things, 
and she chose to enjoy life without regard to cere- 
mony. Her escapades at first would have been 
thought mild enough had she not been a ''daughter 
of France " ; but they served to shock the old French 
king, and likewise, perhaps even more, her own im- 
perial mother, Maria Theresa. 

When a report of the young girl's conduct was 

165 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

brought to her the empress was at first mute with 
indignation. Then she cried out : 

"Can this girl be a child of mine? She surely 
must be a changeling!" 

The Austrian ambassador to France was instructed 
to warn the Dauphiness to be more discreet. 

"Tell her," said Maria Theresa, "that she will 
lose her throne, and even her life, unless she shows 
more prudence." 

But advice and remonstrance were of no avail. 
Perhaps they might have been had her husband 
possessed a stronger character ; but the young Louis 
was little more fitted to be a king than was his wife 
to be a queen. Dull of perception and indifferent 
to affairs of state, he had only two interests that 
absorbed him. One was the love of hunting, and the 
other was his desire to shut himself up in a sort 
of blacksmith shop, where he could hammer away 
at the anvil, blow the bellows, and manufacture 
small trifles of mechanical inventions. From this 
smudgy den he would emerge, sooty and greasy, 
an object of distaste to his frivolous princess, with 
her foamy laces and perfumes and pervasive dainti- 
ness. 

It was hinted in many quarters, and it has been 
many times repeated, that Louis was lacking in 
virility. Certainly he had no interest in the society 
of women and was wholly continent. But this charge 
of physical incapacity seems to have had no real 
foundation. It had been made against some of his 
predecessors. It was afterward hurled at Napoleon 
the Great, and also Napoleon the Little. In France, 
unless a royal personage was openly licentious, he 
was almost sure to be jeered at by the people as a 
weakling. 

166 



MARIE ANTOINETTE 

And so poor Louis XVI., as he came to be, was 
treated with a mixture of pity and contempt be- 
cause he loved to hammer and mend locks in his 
smithy or shoot game when he might have been 
caressing ladies who would have been proud to have 
him choose them out. 

On the other hand, because of this opinion re- 
garding Louis, people were the more suspicious of 
Marie Antoinette. Some of them, in coarse lan- 
guage, criticized her assumed infidelities; others, 
with a polite sneer, affected to defend her. But 
the result of it all was dangerous to both, espe- 
cially as France was already verging toward the 
deluge which Louis XV. had cynically predicted 
would follow after him. 

In fact, the end came sooner than any one had 
guessed. Louis XV., who had become hopelessly 
and helplessly infatuated with the low-born Jeanne 
du Barry, was stricken down with smallpox of the 
most virulent type. For many days he lay in his 
gorgeous bed. Courtiers crowded his sick-room 
and the adjacent hall, longing for the moment when 
the breath would leave his body. He had lived an 
evil life, and he was to die a loathsome death; yet 
he had borne himself before men as a stately mon- 
arch. Though his people had suffered in a thousand 
ways from his misgovernment, he was still Louis 
the Well Beloved, and they blamed his ministers of 
state for all the shocking wrongs that France had felt. 

The abler men, and some of the leaders of the 
people, however, looked forward to the accession 
of Louis XVI. He at least was frugal in his habits 
and almost plebeian in his tastes, and seemed to 
be one who would reduce the enormous taxes that 
had been levied upon France. 

167 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

The moment came when the Well Beloved died. 
His death-room was fetid with disease, and even 
the long corridors of the palace reeked with infec- 
tion, while the motley mob of men and women, clad 
in silks and satins and glittering with jewels, hur- 
ried from the spot to pay their homage to the new 
Louis, who was spoken of as "the Desired." The 
body of the late monarch was hastily thrown into 
a mass of quicklime, and was driven away in a 
humble wagon, without guards and with no salute, 
save from a single veteran, who remembered the 
glories of Fontenoy and discharged his musket as 
the royal corpse was carried through the palace gates. 

This was a critical moment in the history of 
France; but we have to consider it only as a critical 
moment in the history of Marie Antoinette. She 
was now queen. She had it in her power to restore 
to the French court its old-time grandeur, and, so 
far as the queen was concerned, its purity. Above 
all, being a foreigner, she should have kept herself 
free from reproach and above every shadow of 
suspicion. 

But here again the indifference of the king un- 
doubtedly played a strange part in her life. Had 
he borne himself as her lord and master she might 
have respected him. Had he shown her the affec- 
tion of a husband she might have loved him. But 
he was neither imposing, nor, on the other hand, was 
he alluring. She wrote very frankly about him in a 
letter to the Count Orsini : 

My tastes are not the same as those of the king, who cares 
only for hunting and blacksmith work. You will admit that 
I should not show to advantage in a forge. I could not appear 
there as Vulcan, and the part of Venus might displease him 
even more than my tastes. 

168 




LOUIS XVI. 



MARIE ANTOINETTE 

Thus on the one side is a woman in the first bloom 
of youth, ardent, eager — and neglected. On the 
other side is her husband, whose sluggishness may 
be judged by quoting from a diary which he kept 
during the month in which he was married. Here 
is a part of it : 

Sunday, 13 — Left Versailles. Supper and slept at Com- 
pignee, at the house of M. de Saint-Florentin. 

Monday, 14 — Interview with Mme. la Dauphine. 

Tuesday, 15 — Supped at La Muette. Slept at Versailles. 

Wednesday, 16 — My marriage. Apartment in the gallery. 
Royal banquet in the Salle d'Opera. 

Thursday, 17 — Opera of "Perseus." 

Friday 18 — Stag-hunt. Met at La Belle Image. Took one. 

Saturday, ig — Dress-ball in the Salle d'Opera. Fireworks. 

Thursday, 31 — I had an indigestion. 

What might have been expected from a young 
girl placed as this queen was placed? She was in- 
deed an earlier Eugenie. The first was of royal 
blood, the second was almost a plebeian; but each 
was headstrong, pleasure-loving, and with no real 
domestic ties. As Mr. Kipling expresses it — 

The colonel's lady and Judy O 'Grady 
Are sisters under their skins; 

and so the Austrian woman of 1776 and the Spanish 
woman of 1856 found amusement in very similar 
ways. They plunged into a sea of strange frivolity, 
such as one finds to-day at the centers of high 
fashion. Marie Antoinette bedecked herself with 
eccentric garments. On her head she wore a hat 
styled a "what-is-it," towering many feet in height 
and flaunting parti-colored plumes. Worse than all 
this, she refused to wear corsets, and at some great 
12 169 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

functions she would appear in what looked exactly- 
like a bedroom gown. 

She would even neglect the ordinary niceties of 
life. Her hands were not well cared for. It was 
very difficult for the ladies in attendance to persuade 
her to brush her teeth with regularity. Again, she 
would persist in wearing her frilled and lace-trimmed 
petticoats long after their dainty edges had been 
smirched and blackened. 

Yet these things might have been counteracted 
had she gone no further. Unfortunately, she did 
go further. She loved to dress at night like a shop- 
girl and venture out into the world of Paris, where 
she was frequently followed and recognized. Think 
of it — the Queen of France, elbowed in dense crowds 
and seeking to attract the attention of common 
soldiers ! 

Of course, almost every one put the worst con- 
struction upon this, and after a time upon every- 
thing she did. When she took a fancy for con- 
structing labyrinths and secret passages in the pal- 
ace, all Paris vowed that she was planning means 
by which her various lovers might enter without 
observation. The hidden printing-presses of Paris 
swarmed with gross lampoons about this reckless 
girl; and, although there was little truth in what 
they said, there was enough to cloud her reputation. 
When she fell ill with the measles she was attended 
in her sick-chamber by four gentlemen of the court. 
The king was forbidden to enter lest he might catch 
the childish disorder. 

• The apathy of the king, indeed, drove her into 
many a folly. After four years of marriage, as Mrs. 
Mayne records, he had only reached the point of 
giving her a chilly kiss. The fact that she had no 

170 



MARIE ANTOINETTE 

children became a very serious matter. Her brother, 
the Emperor Joseph of Austria, when he visited 
Paris, ventured to speak to the king upon the sub- 
ject. Even the Austrian ambassador had thrown 
out hints that the house of Bourbon needed direct 
heirs. Louis grunted and said little, but he must 
have known how good was the advice. 

It was at about this time when there came to the 
French court a young Swede named Axel de Fersen, 
who bore the title of count, but who was received 
less for his rank than for his winning manner, his 
knightly bearing, and his handsome, sympathetic 
face. Romantic in spirit, he threw himself at once 
into a silent inner worship of Marie Antoinette, who 
had for him a singular attraction. Wherever he 
could meet her they met. To her growing cynicism 
this breath of pure yet ardent affection was very 
grateful. It came as something fresh and sweet 
into the feverish life she led. 

Other men had had the audacity to woo her — 
among them Due de Lauzun, whose complicity in 
the famous affair of the diamond necklace after- 
ward cast her, though innocent, into ruin; the Due 
de Biron; and the Baron de Besenval, who had ob- 
tained much influence over her, which he used for 
the most evil purposes. Besenval tainted her mind 
by persuading her to read indecent books, in the 
hope that at last she would become his prey. 

But none of these men ever meant to Marie An- 
toinette what Fersen meant. Though less than 
twenty years of age, he maintained the reserve of 
a great gentleman, and never forced himself upon 
her notice. Yet their first acquaintance had oc- 
curred in such a way as to give to it a touch of in- 
timacy. He had gone to a masked ball, and there 

171 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

had chosen for his partner a lady whose face was 
quite concealed. Something drew the two together. 
The gaiety of the woman and the chivalry of the 
man blended most harmoniously. It was only after- 
ward that he discovered that his chance partner 
was the first lady in France. She kept his memory 
in her mind; for some time later, when he was at 
a royal drawing-room and she heard his voice, she 
exclaimed : 

* 'Ah, an old acquaintance !" 

From this time Fersen was among those who were 
most intimately favored by the queen. He had the 
privilege of attending her private receptions at the 
palace of the Trianon, and was a conspicuous fig- 
ure at the feasts given in the queen's honor by the 
Princess de Lamballe, a beautiful girl whose head 
was destined afterward to be severed from her body 
and borne upon a bloody pike through the streets 
of Paris. But as yet the deluge had not arrived 
and the great and noble still danced upon the brink 
of a volcano. 

Fersen grew more and more infatuated, nor could 
he quite conceal his feelings. The queen, in her 
turn, was neither frightened nor indignant. His 
passion, so profound and yet so respectful, deeply 
moved her. Then came a time when the truth was 
made clear to both of them. Fersen was near her 
while she was singing to the harpsichord, and "she 
was betrayed by her own music into an avowal 
which song made easy." She forgot that she was 
Queen of France. She only felt that her woman- 
hood had been starved and slighted, and that here 
was a noble-minded lover of whom she could be 
proud. 

Some time after this announcement was officially 

172 



MARIE ANTOINETTE 

made of the approaching accouchement of the queen. 
It was impossible that malicious tongues should be 
silent. The king's brother, the Comte de Provence, 
who hated the queen, just as the Bonapartes after- 
ward hated Josephine, did his best to besmirch her 
reputation. He had, indeed, the extraordinary in- 
solence to do so at a time when one would suppose 
that the vilest of men would remain silent. The 
child proved to be a princess, and she afterward 
received the title of Duchesse d'Angouleme. The 
King of Spain asked to be her godfather at the 
christening, which was to be held in the cathedral 
of Notre Dame. The Spanish king was not present 
in person, but asked the Comte de Provence to act 
as his proxy. 

On the appointed day the royal party proceeded 
to the cathedral, and the Comte de Provence pre- 
sented the little child at the baptismal font. The 
grand almoner, who presided, asked: 

"What name shall be given to this child?" 

The Comte de Provence answered in a sneering 
tone: 

"Oh, we don't begin with that. The first thing 
to find out is who the father and the mother are!" 

These words, spoken at such a place and such a 
time, and with a strongly sardonic ring, set all Paris 
gossiping. It was a thinly veiled innuendo that the 
father of the child was not the King of France. 
Those about the court immediately began to look 
at Fersen with significant smiles. The queen would 
gladly have kept him near her; but Fersen cared 
even more for her good name than for his love of 
her. It would have been so easy to remain in the 
full enjoyment of his conquest; but he was too 
chivalrous for that, or, rather, he knew that the 

i73 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

various ambassadors in Paris had told their respec- 
tive governments of the rising scandal. In fact, 
the following secret despatch was sent to the King 
of Sweden by his envoy: 

I must confide to your majesty that the young Count Fersen 
has been so well received by the queen that various persons 
have taken it amiss. I own that I am sure that she has a liking 
for him. I have seen proofs of it too certain to be doubted. 
During the last few days the queen has not taken her eyes off 
him, and as she gazed they were full of tears. I beg your 
majesty to keep their secret to yourself. 

The queen wept because Fersen had resolved to 
leave her lest she should be exposed to further gos- 
sip. If he left her without any apparent reason, 
the gossip would only be the more intense. There- 
fore he decided to join the French troops who were 
going to America to fight under Lafayette. A brill- 
iant but dissolute duchess taunted him when the 
news became known. 

"How is this?" said she. "Do you forsake your 
conquest?" 

But, "lying like a gentleman," Fersen answered, 
quietly : 

"Had I made a conquest I should not forsake it. 
I go away free, and, unfortunately, without leaving 
any regret." 

Nothing could have been more chivalrous than 
the pains which Fersen took to shield the reputa- 
tion of the queen. He even allowed it to be sup- 
posed that he was planning a marriage with a rich 
young Swedish woman who had been naturalized 
in England. As a matter of fact, he departed for 
America, and not very long afterward the young 
woman in question married an Englishman. 

Fersen served in America for a time, returning, 

i74 



MARIE ANTOINETTE 

however, at the end of three years. He was one 
of the original Cincinnati, being admitted to the 
order by Washington himself. When he returned to 
France he was received with high honors and was 
made colonel of the royal Swedish regiment. 

The dangers threatening Louis and his court, 
which were now gigantic and appalling, forbade 
him to forsake the queen. By her side he did what 
he could to check the revolution; and, failing this, 
he helped her to maintain an imperial dignity of 
manner which she might otherwise have lacked. 
He faced the bellowing mob which surrounded the 
Tuileries. Lafayette tried to make the National 
Guard obey his orders, but he was jeered at for his 
pains. Violent epithets were hurled at the king. 
The least insulting name which they could give him 
was "a fat pig." As for the queen, the most filthy 
phrases were showered upon her by the men, and 
even more so by the women, who swarmed out of 
the slums and sought her life. 

At last, in 1791, it was decided that the king and 
the queen and their children, of whom they now had 
three, should endeavor to escape from Paris. Fersen 
planned their flight, but it proved to be a failure. 
Every one remembers how they were discovered 
and halted at Varennes. The royal party was es- 
corted back to Paris by the mob, which chanted 
with insolent additions: 

" We've brought back the baker, the baker's 
wife, and the baker's boy! Now we shall have 
bread!" 

Against the savage fury which soon animated the 
French a foreigner like Fersen could do very little; 
but he seems to have endeavored, night and day, 
to serve the woman whom he loved. His efforts 

i75 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

have been described by Grandat; but they were of 
no avail. The king and queen were practically 
made prisoners. Their eldest son died. They went 
through horrors that were stimulated by the wretch 
Hebert, at the head of his so-called Madmen {En- 
rages). The king was executed in January, 1792. 
The queen dragged out a brief existence in a prison 
where she was for ever under the eyes of human 
brutes, who guarded her and watched her and 
jeered at her at times when even men would be sen- 
sitive. Then, at last, she mounted the scaffold, and 
her head, with its shining hair, fell into the bloody 
basket. 

Marie Antoinette shows many contradictions in 
her character. As a young girl she was petulant 
and silly and almost unseemly in her actions. As 
a queen, with waning power, she took on a dignity 
which recalled the dignity of her imperial mother. 
At first a flirt, she fell deeply in love when she met 
a man who was worthy of that love. She lived for 
most part like a mere cocotte. She died every inch a 
queen. 

There were some strange incidents in her life, 
which the superstitious remember and recount. She 
was born on a day when Vienna was shaken by an 
earthquake. Once a wandering fortune-teller was 
asked to read the future of the princess, but stub- 
bornly refused to do so, and would only utter the 
enigmatical remark: 

"For every shoulder there is a cross.' ' 

One finds a curious resemblance between the fate 
of Marie Antoinette and that of her gallant lover, 
who outlived her for nearly twenty years. She died 
amid the shrieks and execrations of a maddened 
populace in Paris; he was practically torn in pieces 

176 



MARIE ANTOINETTE 

by a mob in the streets of Stockholm. The day of 
his death was the anniversary of the flight to Va- 
rennes. To the last moment of his existence he re- 
mained faithful to the memory of the royal woman 
who had given herself so utterly to him. 



THE STORY OF AARON BURR 



THE STORY OF AARON BURR 

THERE will come a time when the name of 
Aaron Burr will be cleared from the prejudice 
which now surrounds it, when he will stand in 
the public estimation side by side with Alexander 
Hamilton, whom he shot in a duel in 1804, but 
whom in many respects he curiously resembled. 
When the white light of history shall have searched 
them both they will appear as two remarkable men, 
each having his own undoubted faults and at the 
same time his equally undoubted virtues. 

Burr and Hamilton were born within a year of 
each other — -Burr being a grandson of Jonathan 
Edwards, and Alexander Hamilton being the ille- 
gitimate son of a Scottish merchant in the West 
Indies. Each of them was short in stature, keen of 
intellect, of great physical endurance, courage, and 
impressive personality. Each as a young man 
served on the staff of Washington during the Revo- 
lutionary War, and each of them quarreled with 
him, though in a different way. 

On one occasion Burr was quite unjustly suspected 
by Washington of looking over the latter 's shoulder 
while he was writing. Washington leaped to his 
feet with the exclamation: 

"How dare you, Colonel Burr?" 

Burr's eyes flashed fire at the question, and he re- 
torted, haughtily; 

?8i 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

''Colonel Burr dare do anything." 

This, however, was the end of their altercation. 
The cause of Hamilton's difference with his chief is 
not known, but it was a much more serious quarrel ; 
so that the young officer left his staff position in 
a fury and took no part in the war until the end, 
when he was present at the battle of Yorktown. 

Burr, on the other hand, helped Montgomery 
to storm the heights of Quebec, and nearly reached 
the upper citadel when his commander was shot 
dead and the Americans retreated. In all this con- 
fusion Burr showed himself a man of mettle. The 
slain Montgomery was six feet high, but Burr car- 
ried his body away with wonderful strength amid 
a shower of musket-balls and grape-shot. 

Hamilton had no belief in the American Consti- 
tution, which he called "a shattered, feeble thing." 
He could never obtain an elective office, and he 
would have preferred to see the United States trans- 
formed into a kingdom. Washington's magna- 
nimity and clear-sightedness made Hamilton Secre- 
tary of the Treasury. Burr, on the other hand, 
continued his military service until the war was 
ended, routing the enemy at Hackensack, enduring 
the horrors of Valley Forge, commanding a brigade 
at the battle of Monmouth, and heading the defense 
of the city of New Haven. He was also attorney- 
general of New York, was elected to the United 
States Senate, was tied with Jefferson for the Presi- 
dency, and then became Vice-President. 

Both Hamilton and Burr were effective speak- 
ers; but, while Hamilton was wordy and diffuse, 
Burr spoke always to the point, with clear and co- 
gent reasoning. Both were lavish spenders of money, 
and both were engaged in duels before the fatal one 

182 



THE STORY OF AARON BURR 

in which Hamilton fell. Both believed in dueling 
as the only way of settling an affair of honor. Neither 
of them was averse to love affairs, though it may 
be said that Hamilton sought women, while Burr 
was rather sought by women. When Secretary of 
the Treasury, Hamilton was obliged to confess an 
adulterous amour in order to save himself from the 
charge of corrupt practices in public office. So long 
as Burr's wife lived he was a devoted, faithful hus- 
band to her. Hamilton was obliged to confess his 
illicit acts while his wife, formerly Miss Elizabeth 
Schuyler, was living. She spent her later years in 
buying and destroying the compromising docu- 
ments which her husband had published for his 
countrymen to read. 

The most extraordinary thing about Aaron Burr 
was the magnetic quality that was felt by every one 
who approached him. The roots of this penetrated 
down into a deep vitality. He was always young, 
always alert, polished in manner, courageous with 
that sort of courage which does not even recognize 
the presence of danger, charming in conversation, 
and able to adapt it to men or women of any age 
whatever. His hair was still dark in his eightieth 
year. His step was still elastic, his motions were 
still as spontaneous and energetic, as those of a youth. 

So it was that every one who knew him experienced 
his fascination. The rough troops whom he led 
through the Canadian swamps felt the iron hand 
of his discipline; yet they were devoted to him, 
since he shared all their toils, faced all their dangers, 
and ate with them the scraps of hide which they 
gnawed to keep the breath of life in their shrunken 
bodies. 

Burr's discipline was indeed very strict, so that 

183 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

at first raw recruits rebelled against it. On one oc- 
casion the men of an untrained company resented 
it so bitterly that they decided to shoot Colonel 
Burr as he paraded them for roll-call that evening. 
Burr somehow got word of it and contrived to have 
all the cartridges drawn from their muskets. When 
the time for the roll-call came one of the malcontents 
leaped from the front line and leveled his weapon 
at Burr. 

"Now is the time, boys!" he shouted. 

Like lightning Burr's sword flashed from its scab- 
bard with such a vigorous stroke as to cut the man's 
arm completely off and partly to cleave the musket. 

"Take your place in the ranks," said Burr. 

The mutineer obeyed, dripping with blood. A 
month later every man in that company was devoted 
to his commander. They had learned that dis- 
cipline was the surest source of safety. 

But with this high spirit and readiness to fight 
Burr had a most pleasing way of meeting every one 
who came to him. When he was arrested in the 
Western forests, charged with high treason, the 
sound of his voice won from jury after jury verdicts 
of acquittal. Often the sheriffs would not arrest 
him. One grand jury not merely exonerated him 
from all public misdemeanors, but brought in a 
strong presentment against the officers of the gov- 
ernment for molesting him. 

It was the same everywhere. Burr made friends 
and devoted allies among all sorts of men. During 
his stay in France, England, Germany, and Sweden 
he interested such men as Charles Lamb, Jeremy 
Bentham, Sir Walter Scott, Goethe, and Heeren. 
They found his mind able to meet with theirs on 
equal terms. Burr, indeed, had graduated as a 

184 



THE STORY OF AARON BURR 

youth with honors from Princeton, and had con- 
tinued his studies there after graduation, which was 
then a most unusual thing to do. But, of course, 
he learned most from his contact with men and 
women of the world. 

Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, in The Minister's 
Wooing, has given what is probably an exact like- 
ness of Aaron Burr, with his brilliant gifts and some 
of his defects. It is strong testimony to the char- 
acter of Burr that Mrs. Stowe set out to paint him 
as a villain; but before she had written long she 
felt his fascination and made her readers, in their own 
despite, admirers of this remarkable man. There 
are many parallels, indeed, between him and Napo- 
leon — in the quickness of his intellect, the ready 
use of his resources, and his power over men, while 
he was more than Napoleon in his delightful gift 
of conversation and the easy play of his cultured 
mind. 

Those who are full of charm are willing also to 
be charmed. All his life Burr was abstemious in 
food and drink. His tastes were most refined. It 
is difficult to believe that such a man could have 
been an unmitigated profligate. 

In his twentieth year there seems to have begun 
the first of the romances that run through the story 
of his long career. Perhaps one ought not to call 
it the first romance, for at eighteen, while he was 
studying law at Litchfield, a girl, whose name has 
been suppressed, made an open avowal of love for 
him. Almost at the same time an heiress with a 
large fortune would have married him had he been 
willing to accept her hand. But at this period he 
was only a boy and did not take such things seriously. 

Two years later, after Burr had seen hard service 
13 185 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

at Quebec and on Manhattan Island, his name was 
associated with that of a very beautiful girl named 
Margaret Moncrieffe. She was the daughter of a 
British major, but in some way she had been cap- 
tured while within the American lines. Her cap- 
tivity was regarded as little more than a joke; but 
while she was thus a prisoner she saw a great deal 
of Burr. For several months they were comrades, 
after which General Putnam sent her with his 
compliments to her father. 

Margaret Moncrieffe had a most emotional nature. 
There can be no doubt that she deeply loved the 
handsome young American officer, whom she never 
saw again. It is doubtful how far their intimacy 
was carried. Later she married a Mr. Coghlan. 
After reaching middle life she wrote of Burr in a way 
which shows that neither years nor the obligations 
of marriage could make her forget that young sol- 
dier, whom she speaks of as "the conqueror of her 
soul." The style that was popular in those days was 
rather florid, and the once youthful Margaret Mon- 
crieffe expresses herself in the following language: 

Oh, may these pages one day meet the eye of him who sub- 
dued my virgin heart, whom the immutable, unerring laws of 
nature had pointed out for my husband, but whose sacred 
decree the barbarous customs of society fatally violated! 

Commenting on this paragraph, Mr. H. C. Mer- 
win justly remarks that, whatever may have been 
Burr's conduct toward Margaret Moncrieffe, the 
lady herself, who was the person chiefly concerned, 
had no complaint to make of it. It certainly was 
no very serious affair, since in the following year 
Burr met a lady who, while she lived, was the only 
woman for whom he ever really cared. 

186 



THE STORY OF AARON BURR 

This was Theodosia Prevost, the wife of a major 
in the British army. Burr met her first in 1777, 
while she was living with her sister in Westchester 
County. Burr's command was fifteen miles across 
the river, but distance and danger made no differ- 
ence to him. He used to mount a swift horse, 
inspect his sentinels and outposts, and then gallop 
to the Hudson, where a barge rowed by six 
soldiers awaited him. The barge was well sup- 
plied with buffalo-skins, upon which the horse was 
thrown with his legs bound, and then half an hour's 
rowing brought them to the other side. There Burr 
resumed his horse, galloped to the house of Mrs. 
Prevost, and, after spending a few hours with her, 
returned in the same way. 

Mrs. Prevost was by no means beautiful, but she 
had an attractiveness of her own. She was well edu- 
cated and possessed charming manners, with a dis- 
position both gentle and affectionate. Her husband 
died soon after the beginning of the war, and then 
Burr married her. No more ideal family life could 
be conceived than his, and the letters which passed 
between the two are full of adoration. Thus she 
wrote to him: 

Tell me, why do I grow every day more tenacious of your 
regard? Is it because each revolving day proves you more 
deserving? 

And thus Burr answered her: 

Continue to multiply your letters to me. They are all my 
solace. The last six are constantly within my reach. I read 
them once a day at least. Write me all that I have asked, 
and a hundred things which I have not. 

When it is remembered that these letters were 
written after nine years of marriage it is hard to 

187 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

believe all the evil things that have been said of 
Burr. 

His wife died in 1794, and he then gave a double 
affection to his daughter Theodosia, whose beauty 
and accomplishments were known throughout the 
country. Burr took the greatest pains in her edu- 
cation, and believed that she should be trained, as 
he had been, to be brave, industrious, and patient. 
He himself, who has been described as a voluptuary, 
delighted in the endurance of cold and heat and of 
severe labor. 

After his death one of his younger admirers was 
asked what Burr had done for him. The reply was 
characteristic. 

"He made me iron," was the answer. 

No father ever gave more attention to his daugh- 
ter's welfare. As to Theodosia 's studies he was very 
strict, making her read Greek and Latin every day, 
with drawing and music and history, in addition to 
French. Not long before her marriage to Joseph 
Allston, of South Carolina, Burr wrote to her: 

I really think, my dear Theo, that you will be very soon 
beyond all verbal criticism, and that my whole attention will 
be presently directed to the improvement of your style. 

Theodosia Burr married into a family of good old 
English stock, where riches were abundant, and high 
character was regarded as the best of all possessions. 
Every one has heard of the mysterious tragedy 
which is associated with her history. In 18 12, when 
her husband had been elected Governor of his state, 
her only child — a sturdy boy of eleven — died, and 
Theodosia's health was shattered by her sorrow. 
In the same year Burr returned from a sojourn in 
Europe, and his loving daughter embarked from 



THE STORY OF AARON BURR 

Charleston on a schooner, the Patriot, to meet her 
father in New York. When Burr arrived he was 
met by a letter which told him that his grandson 
was dead and that Theodosia was coming to him. 

Weeks sped by, and no news was heard of the 
ill-fated Patriot. At last it became evident that she 
must have gone down or in some other way have 
been lost. Burr and Governor Allston wrote to each 
other letter after letter, of which each one seems to 
surpass the agony of the other. At last all hope was 
given up. Governor Allston died soon after of a 
broken heart; but Burr, as became a Stoic, acted 
otherwise. 

He concealed everything that reminded him of 
Theodosia. He never spoke of his lost daughter. 
His grief was too deep-seated and too terrible for 
speech. Only once did he ever allude to her, and 
this was in a letter written to an afflicted friend, 
which contained the words: 



Ever since the event which separated me from mankind 
I have been able neither to give nor to receive consolation. 



In time the crew of a pirate vessel was captured 
and sentenced to be hanged. One of the men, who 
seemed to be less brutal than the rest, told how, in 
1812, they had captured a schooner, and, after their 
usual practice, had compelled the passengers to walk 
the plank. All hesitated and showed cowardice, ex- 
cept only one — a beautiful woman whose eyes were 
as bright and whose bearing was as unconcerned as 
if she were safe on shore. She quickly led the way, 
and, mounting the plank with a certain scorn of 
death, said to the others: 

''Come, I will show you how to die." 

189 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

It has always been supposed that this intrepid 
girl may have been Theodosia Allston. If so, she 
only acted as her father would have done and in 
strict accordance with his teachings. 

This resolute courage, this stern joy in danger, 
this perfect equanimity, made Burr especially at- 
tractive to women, who love courage, the more so 
when it is coupled with gentleness and gener- 
osity. 

Perhaps no man in our country has been so vehe- 
mently accused regarding his relations with the other 
sex. The most improbable stories were told about 
him, even by his friends. As to his enemies, they 
took boundless pains to paint him in the blackest 
colors. According to them, no woman was safe from 
his intrigues. He was a perfect devil in leading them 
astray and then casting them aside. 

Thus one Matthew L. Davis, in whom Burr had 
confided as a friend, wrote of him long afterward a 
most unjust account — unjust because we have proofs 
that it was false in the intensity of its abuse. Davis 
wrote : 

It is truly surprising how any individual could become so 
eminent as a soldier, as a statesman, and as a professional 
man who devoted so much time to the other sex as was devoted 
by Colonel Burr. For more than half a century of his life 
they seemed to absorb his whole thought. His intrigues were 
without number; the sacred bonds of friendship were unhesi- 
tatingly violated when they operated as barriers to the indul- 
gence of his passions. In this particular Burr appears to have 
been unfeeling and heartless. 

It is impossible to believe that the Spartan Burr, 
whose life was one of incessant labor and whose 
kindliness toward every one was so well known, 
should have deserved a commentary like this. The 

190 



THE STORY OF AARON BURR 

charge of immorality is so easily made and so diffi- 
cult of disproof that it has been flung promiscuously 
at all the great men of history, including, in our own 
country Washington and Jefferson as well as Burr. 
In England, when Gladstone was more than seventy 
years of age, he once stopped to ask a question of 
a woman in the street. Within twenty-four hours 
the London clubs were humming with a sort of de- 
moniac glee over the story that this aged and austere 
old gentleman was not above seeking common street 
amours. 

And so with Aaron Burr to a great extent. That 
he was a man of strict morality it would be absurd 
to maintain. That he was a reckless and licentious 
profligate would be almost equally untrue. Mr. H. 
C. Merwin has very truly said: 

Part of Burr's reputation for profligacy was due, no doubt, 
to that vanity respecting women of which Davis himself speaks. 
He never refused to accept the parentage of a child. 

"Why do you allow this woman to saddle you with her child 
when you know you are not the father of it?" said a friend to 
him a few months before his death. 

"Sir," he replied, "when a lady does me the honor to name 
me the father of her child I trust I shall always be too gallant 
to show myself ungrateful for the favor." 

There are two curious legends relating to Aaron 
Burr. They serve to show that his reputation be- 
came such that he could not enjoy the society of a 
woman without having her regarded as his mistress. 

When he was United States Senator from New 
York he lived in Philadelphia at the lodging-house 
of a Mrs. Payne, whose daughter, Dorothy Todd, 
was the very youthful widow of an officer. This 
young woman was rather free in her manners, and 
Burr was very responsive in his. At the time, how- 

191 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

ever, nothing was thought of it ; but presently Bun- 
brought to the house the serious and somewhat 
pedantic James Madison and introduced him to the 
hoyden. 

Madison was then forty-seven years of age, a 
stranger to society, but gradually rising to a prom- 
inent position in politics — "the great little Madison," 
as Burr rather lightly called him. Before very long 
he had proposed marriage to the young widow. She 
hesitated, and some one referred the matter to Presi- 
dent Washington. The Father of his Country an- 
swered in what was perhaps the only opinion that 
he ever gave on the subject of matrimony. It is 
worth preserving because it shows that he had a 
sense of humor: 

For my own part, I never did nor do I believe I ever shall 
give advice to a woman who is setting out on a matrimonial 
voyage. ... A woman very rarely asks an opinion or seeks 
advice on such an occasion till her mind is wholly made up, 
and then it is with the hope and expectation of obtaining a 
sanction, and not that she means to be governed by your dis- 
approval. 

Afterward when Dolly Madison with her yellow 
turban and kittenish ways was making a sensation 
in Washington society some one recalled her old 
association with Burr. At once the story sprang 
to light that Burr had been her lover and that he 
had brought about the match with Madison as an 
easy way of getting rid of her. 

There is another curious story which makes Mar- 
tin Van Buren, eighth President of the United States, 
to have been the illegitimate son of Aaron Burr. 
There is no earthly reason for believing this, except 
that Burr sometimes stopped overnight at the tav- 
ern in Kinderhook which was kept by Van Buren's 

192 



THE STORY OF AARON BURR 

putative father, and that Van Buren in later life 
showed an astuteness equal to that of Aaron Burr 
himself, so that he was called by his opponents "the 
fox of Kinderhook." But, as Van Buren was born 
in December of the same year (1782) in which Burr 
was married to Theodosia Prevost, the story is ut- 
terly improbable when we remember, as we must, 
the ardent affection which Burr showed his wife, 
not only before their marriage, but afterward until 
her death. 

Putting aside these purely spurious instances, as 
well as others cited by Mr. Parton, the fact remains 
that Aaron Burr, like Daniel Webster, found a great 
attraction in the society of women; that he could 
please them and fascinate them to an extraordinary 
degree; and that during his later life he must be 
held quite culpable in this respect. His love-making 
was ardent and rapid, as we shall afterward see in 
the case of his second marriage. 

Many other stories are told of him. For instance, 
it is said that he once took a stage-coach from Jersey 
City to Philadelphia. The only other occupant was 
a woman of high standing and one whose family 
deeply hated Aaron Burr. Nevertheless, so the 
story goes, before they had reached Newark she was 
absolutely swayed by his charm of manner; and 
when the coach made its last stop before Phila- 
delphia she voluntarily became his mistress. 

It must also be said that, unlike those of Webster 
and Hamilton, his intrigues were never carried on 
with women of the lower sort. This may be held 
by some to deepen the charge against him; but 
more truly does it exonerate him, since it really 
means that in many cases these women of the world 
threw themselves at him and sought him as a lover, 

193 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

when otherwise he might never have thought of 
them. 

That he was not heartless and indifferent to those 
who had loved him may be shown by the great care 
which he took to protect their names and reputa- 
tions. Thus, on the day before his duel with Hamil- 
ton, he made a will in which he constituted his son- 
in-law as his executor. At the same time he wrote 
a sealed letter to Governor Allston in which he said : 

If you can pardon and indulge a folly, I would suggest that 

Mme. , too well known under the name of Leonora, has 

claims on my recollection. She is now with her husband at 
Santiago, in Cuba. 

Another fact has been turned to his discredit. 
From many women, in the course of his long life, 
he had received a great quantity of letters written 
by aristocratic hands on scented paper, and these 
letters he had never burned. Here again, perhaps, 
was shown the vanity of the man who loved love 
for its own sake. He kept all these papers in a huge 
iron-clamped chest, and he instructed Theodosia 
in case he should die to burn every letter which 
might injure any one. 

After Theodosia's death Burr gave the same in- 
structions to Matthew L. Davis, who did, indeed, 
burn them, though he made their existence a means 
of blackening the character of Burr. He should 
have destroyed them unopened, and should never 
have mentioned them in his memoirs of the man 
who trusted him as a friend. 

Such was Aaron Burr throughout a life which 
lasted for eighty years. His last romance, at the 
age of seventy-eight, is worth narrating because it 
has often been misunderstood. 

194 



THE STORY OF AARON BURR 

Mme. Jumel was a Rhode Island girl who at seven- 
teen years of age eloped with an English officer, 
Colonel Peter Croix. Her first husband died while 
she was still quite young, and she then married a 
French wine- merchant, Stephen Jumel, some twenty 
years her senior, but a man of much vigor and in- 
telligence. M. Jumel made a considerable fortune 
in New York, owning a small merchant fleet; and 
after Napoleon's downfall he and his wife went to 
Paris, where she made a great impression in the salons 
by her vivacity and wit and by her lavish expenditures. 

Losing, however, part of what she and her husband 
possessed, Mme. Jumel returned to New York, 
bringing with her a great amount of furniture and 
paintings, with which she decorated the historic 
house still standing in the upper part of Manhattan 
Island— a mansion held by her in her own right. 
She managed her estate with much ability; and in 
1828 M. Jumel returned to live with her in what 
was in those days a splendid villa. 

Four years later, however, M. Jumel suffered an 
accident from which he died in a few days, leaving 
his wife still an attractive woman and not very much 
past her prime. Soon after she had occasion to seek 
for legal advice, and for this purpose visited the 
law-office of Aaron Burr. She had known him a 
good many years before; and, though he was now 
seventy-eight years of age, there was no perceptible 
change in him. He was still courtly in manner, 
tactful, and deferential, while physically he was 
straight, active, and vigorous. 

A little later she invited him to a formal banquet, 
where he displayed all his charms and shone to great 
advantage. When he was about to lead her in to 
dinner, he said: 

195 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

"I give my hand, madam; my heart has long 
been yours." 

These attentions he followed up with several other 
visits, and finally proposed that she should marry 
him. Much fluttered and no less flattered, she ut- 
tered a sort of "No" which was not likely to dis- 
courage a man like Aaron Burr. 

"I shall come to you before very long," he said, 
"accompanied by a clergyman; and then you will 
give me your hand because I want it." 

This rapid sort of wooing was pleasantly em- 
barrassing. The lady rather liked it; and so, on 
an afternoon when the sun was shining and the leaves 
were rustling in the breeze, Burr drove up to Mme. 
Jumel's mansion accompanied by Dr. Bogart — the 
very clergyman who had married him to his first 
wife fifty years before. 

Mme. Jumel was now seriously disturbed, but her 
refusal was not a strong one. There were reasons 
why she should accept the offer. The great house 
was lonely. The management of her estate required 
a man's advice. Moreover, she was under the spell 
of Burr's fascination. Therefore she arrayed her- 
self in one of her most magnificent Paris gowns; 
the members of her household and eight servants 
were called in and the ceremony was duly performed 
by Dr. Bogart. A banquet followed. A dozen 
cobwebbed bottles of wine were brought up from the 
cellar, and the marriage feast went on merrily until 
after midnight. 

This marriage was a singular one from many 
points of view. It was strange that a man of seventy- 
eight should take by storm the affections of a woman 
so much younger than he — a woman of wealth and 
knowledge of the world. In the second place, it is 

196 




MADAME JUMEL 



THE STORY OF AARON BURR 

odd that there was still another woman — a mere 
girl— who was so infatuated with Burr that when 
she was told of his marriage it nearly broke her 
heart. Finally, in the early part of that same year 
he had been accused of being the father of a new- 
born child, and in spite of his age every one be- 
lieved the charge to be true. Here is a case that it 
would be hard to parallel. 

The happiness of the newly married pair did not, 
however, last very long. They made a wedding 
journey into Connecticut, of which state Burr's 
nephew was then Governor, and there Burr saw a 
monster bridge over the Connecticut River, in which 
his wife had shares, though they brought her little 
income. He suggested that she should transfer the 
investment, which, after all, was not a very large 
one, and place it in a venture in Texas which looked 
promising. The speculation turned out to be a loss, 
however, and this made Mrs. Burr extremely angry, 
the more so as she had reason to think that her 
ever-youthful husband had been engaged in flirting 
with the country girls near the Jumel mansion. 

She was a woman of high spirit and had at times 
a violent temper. One day the postmaster at what 
was then the village of Harlem was surprised to see 
Mrs. Burr drive up before the post-office in an open 
carriage. He came out to ask what she desired, and 
was surprised to find her in a violent temper and 
with an enormous horse-pistol on each cushion at 
her side. 

"What do you wish, madam?" said he, rather 
mildly. 

"What do I wish?" she cried. "Let me get at 
that villain Aaron Burr!" 

Presently Burr seems to have succeeded in paci- 

197 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

fying her; but in the end they separated, though she 
afterward always spoke most kindly of him. When 
he died, only about a year later, she is said to have 
burst into a flood of tears — another tribute to the 
fascination which Aaron Burr exercised through all 
his checkered life. 

It is difficult to come to any fixed opinion regard- 
ing the moral character of Aaron Burr. As a soldier 
he was brave to the point of recklessness. As a po- 
litical leader he was almost the equal of Jefferson 
and quite superior to Hamilton. As a man of the 
world he was highly accomplished, polished in man- 
ner, charming in conversation. He made friends 
easily, and he forgave his enemies with a broad- 
mindedness that is unusual. 

On the other hand, in his political career there 
was a touch of insincerity, and it can scarcely be 
denied that he used his charm too often to the in- 
jury of those women who could not resist his insinu- 
ating ways and the caressing notes of his rich voice. 
But as a husband, in his youth, he was devoted, 
affectionate, and loyal ; while as a father he was little 
less than worshiped by the daughter whom he reared 
so carefully. 

One of his biographers very truly says that no 
such wretch as Burr has been declared to be could 
have won and held the love of such a wife and such 
a daughter as Burr had. 

When all the other witnesses have been heard, let the two 
Theodosias be summoned, and especially that daughter who 
showed toward him an affectionate veneration unsurpassed by 
any recorded in history or romance. Such an advocate as 
Theodosia the younger must avail in some degree, even though, 
the culprit were brought before the bar of Heaven itself. 



GEORGE IV. AND MRS. 
FITZHERBERT 



GEORGE IV. AND MRS. FITZHERBERT 

IN the last decade of the eighteenth century 
England was perhaps the most brilliant nation 
of the world. Other countries had been humbled by 
the splendid armies of France and were destined 
to be still further humbled by the emperor who 
came from Corsica. France had begun to seize the 
scepter of power; yet to this picture there was an- 
other side — fearful want and grievous poverty and 
the horrors of the Revolution. Russia was too far 
away, and was still considered too barbarous, for a 
brilliant court to flourish there. Prussia had the 
prestige that Frederick the Great won for her, but 
she was still a comparatively small state. Italy was 
in a condition of political chaos; the banks of the 
Rhine were running blood where the Austrian armies 
faced the gallant Frenchmen under the leadership 
of Moreau. But England, in spite of the loss of her 
American colonies, was rich and prosperous, and 
her invincible fleets were extending her empire over 
the seven seas. 

At no time in modern England has the court at 
London seen so much real splendor or such fine 
manners. The royalist emigres who fled from France 
brought with them names and pedigrees that were 
older than the Crusades, and many of them were 
received with the frankest, freest English hospi- 
tality. If here and there some marquis or baron 
14 201 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

of ancient blood was perforce content to teach 
music to the daughters of tradesmen in suburban 
schools, nevertheless they were better off than they 
had been in France, harried by the savage gaze- 
hounds of the guillotine. Afterward, in the days 
of the Restoration, when they came back to their 
estates, they had probably learned more than one 
lesson from the bouledogues of Merry England, who 
had little tact, perhaps, but who were at any rate 
kindly and willing to share their goods with pinched 
and poverty-stricken foreigners. 

The court, then, as has been said, was brilliant 
with notables from Continental countries, and with 
the historic wealth of the peerage of England. Only 
one cloud overspread it; and that was the mental 
condition of the king. We have become accustomed 
to think of George III. as a dull creature, almost 
always hovering on the verge of that insanity which 
finally swept him into a dark obscurity; but Thack- 
eray's picture of him is absurdly untrue to the 
actual facts. George III. was by no means a dul- 
lard, nor was he a sort of beefy country squire who 
roved about the palace gardens with his unattrac- 
tive spouse. 

Obstinate enough he was, and ready for a combat 
with the rulers of the Continent or with his self- 
willed sons; but he was a man of brains and power, 
and Lord Rosebery has rightly described him as 
the most striking constitutional figure of his time. 
Had he retained his reason, and had his erratic and 
self-seeking son not succeeded him during his own 
lifetime, Great Britain might very possibly have 
entered upon other ways than those which opened 
to her after the downfall of Napoleon. 

The real center of fashionable England, however, 

202 




FROM THE PICTURE BY SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE, IN THE WATERLOO 
GALLERY, WINDSOR CASTLE 



GEORGE IV. AND MRS. FITZHERBERT 

was not George III., but rather his son, subse- 
quently George IV., who was made Prince of Wales 
three days after his birth, and who became prince 
regent during the insanity of the king. He was the 
leader of the social world, the fit companion of Beau 
Brummel and of a choice circle of rakes and fox- 
hunters who drank pottle-deep. Some called him 
"the first gentleman of Europe." Others, who 
knew him better, described him as one who never 
kept his word to man or woman and who lacked the 
most elementary virtues. 

Yet it was his good luck during the first years 
of his regency to be popular as few English kings 
have ever been. To his people he typified old Eng- 
land against revolutionary France; and his youth 
and gaiety made many like him. He drank and 
gambled; he kept packs of hounds and strings of 
horses; he ran deeply into debt that he might 
patronize the sports of that uproarious day. He 
was a gallant "Corinthian," a haunter of dens 
where there were prize-fights and cock-fights, and 
there was hardly a doubtful resort in London where 
his face was not familiar. 

i He was much given to gallantry — not so much, 
as it seemed, for wantonness, but from sheer love 
of mirth and chivalry. For a time, with his chosen 
friends, such as Fox and Sheridan, he ventured into 
reckless intrigues that recalled the amours of his 
predecessor, Charles II. He had by no means the 
wit and courage of Charles; and, indeed, the house 
of Hanover lacked the outward show of chivalry 
which made the Stuarts shine with external splen- 
dor. But he was good-looking and stalwart, and 
when he had half a dozen robust comrades by his 
side he could assume a very manly appearance. 

203 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Such was George IV. in his regency and in his prime. 
He made that period famous for its card-playing, 
its deep drinking, and for the dissolute conduct of 
its courtiers and noblemen no less than for the gal- 
lantry of its soldiers and its momentous victories 
on sea and land. It came, however, to be seen that 
his true achievements were in reality only escapades, 
that his wit was only folly, and his so-called "sen- 
sibility" was but sham. He invented buckles, 
striped waistcoats, and flamboyant collars, but he 
knew nothing of the principles of kingship or the 
laws by which a state is governed. 

The fact that he had promiscuous affairs with 
women appealed at first to the popular sense of the 
romantic. It was not long, however, before these 
episodes were trampled down into the mire of vul- 
gar scandal. 

One of the first of them began when he sent a 
letter, signed "Florizel," to a young actress, "Per- 
dita" Robinson. Mrs. Robinson, whose maiden 
name was Mary Darby, and who was the original 
of famous portraits by Gainsborough and Reynolds, 
was a woman of beauty, talent, and temperament. 
George, wishing in every way to be "romantic," 
insisted upon clandestine meetings on the Thames 
at Kew, with all the stage trappings of the popular 
novels— cloaks, veils, faces hidden, and armed 
watchers to warn her of approaching danger. Poor 
Perdita took this nonsense so seriously that she 
gave up her natural vocation for the stage, and for- 
sook her husband, believing that the prince would 
never weary of her. 

He did weary of her very soon, and, with the bru- 
tality of a man of such a type, turned her away 
with the promise of some money; after which he 

204 



GEORGE IV. AND MRS. FITZHERBERT 

cut her in the Park and refused to speak to her 
again. As for the money, he may have meant to 
pay it, but Perdita had a long struggle before she 
succeeded in getting it. It may be assumed that 
the prince had to borrow it and that this obliga- 
tion formed part of the debts which Parliament paid 
for him. 

It is not necessary to number the other women 
whose heads he turned. They are too many for re- 
membrance here, and they have no special signifi- 
cance, save one who, as is generally believed, be- 
came his wife so far as the church could make her 
so. An act of 1772 had made it illegal for any mem- 
ber of the English royal family to marry without 
the permission of the king. A marriage contracted 
without the king's consent might be lawful in the 
eyes of the church, but the children born of it could 
not inherit any claim to the throne. 

It may be remarked here that this withholding 
of permission was strictly enforced. Thus William 
IV., who succeeded George IV., was married, be- 
fore his accession to the throne, to Mrs. Jordan 
(Dorothy Bland). Afterward he lawfully married 
a woman of royal birth who was known as Queen 
Adelaide. 

There is an interesting story which tells how 
Queen Victoria came to be born because her father, 
the Duke of Kent, was practically forced to give 
up a morganatic union which he greatly preferred 
to a marriage arranged for him by Parliament. Ex- 
cept the Duke of Cambridge, the Duke of Kent 
was the only royal duke who was likely to have 
children in the regular line. The only daughter of 
George IV. had died in childhood. The Duke of 
Cumberland was for various reasons ineligible; the 

205 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Duke of Clarence, later King William IV., was al- 
most too old ; and therefore, to insure the succession, 
the Duke of Kent was begged to marry a young 
and attractive woman, a princess of the house of 
Saxe - Coburg, who was ready for the honor. It 
was greatly to the Duke's credit that he showed 
deep and sincere feeling in this matter. As he said 
himself in effect: 

" This French lady has stood by me in hard times 
and in good times, too — why should I cast her off? 
She has been more than a wife to me. And what 
do I care for your plans in Parliament? Send over 
for one of the Stuarts — they are better men than 
the last lot of our fellows that you have had!" 

In the end, however, he was wearied out and was 
persuaded to marry, but he insisted that a generous 
sum should be settled on the lady who had been so 
long his true companion, and to whom, no doubt, 
he gave many a wistful thought in his new but un- 
familiar quarters in Kensington Palace, which was 
assigned as his residence. 

Again, the second Duke of Cambridge, who died 
only a few years ago, greatly desired to marry a 
lady who was not of royal rank, though of fine 
breeding and of good birth. He besought his young 
cousin, as head of the family, to grant him this 
privilege of marriage; but Queen Victoria stub- 
bornly refused. The duke was married according 
to the rites of the church, but he could not make 
his wife a duchess. The queen never quite forgave 
him for his partial defiance of her wishes, though the 
duke's wife — she was usually spoken of as Mrs. 
FitzGeorge — was received almost everywhere, and 
two of her sons hold high rank in the British army 
and navy, respectively. 

206 



GEORGE IV. AND MRS. FITZHERBERT 

The one real love-story in the life of George IV. 
is that which tells of his marriage with a lady who 
might well have been the wife of any king. This 
was Maria Anne Smythe, better known as Mrs. 
Fitzherbert, who was six years older than the young 
prince when she first met him in company with a 
boSy of gentlemen and ladies in 1784. He fell at 
once a victim to her fascinations. 

Maria Fitzherbert 's face was one which always 
displayed its best advantages. Her eyes were pecu- 
liarly languishing, and, as she had already been twice 
a widow, and was six years his senior, she had the 
advantage over a less experienced lover. Likewise, 
she was a Catholic, and so by another act of Parlia- 
ment any marriage with her would be illegal. Yet 
just because of all these different objections the 
prince was doubly drawn to her, and was willing to 
sacrifice even the throne if he could but win her. 

His father, the king, called him into the royal 
presence and said: 

" George, it is time that you should settle down 
and insure the succession to the throne." 

"Sir," replied the prince, "I prefer to resign the 
succession and let my brother have it, and that I 
should live as a private English gentleman." 

Mrs. Fitzherbert was not the sort of woman to 
give herself up readily to a morganatic connection. 
Moreover, she soon came to love Prince George too 
well to entangle him in a doubtful alliance with one 
of another faith than his. Not long after he first 
met her the prince, who was always given to pri- 
vate theatricals, sent messengers riding in hot haste 
to her house to tell her that he had stabbed him- 
self, that he begged to see her, and that unless she 
came he would repeat the act. The lady yielded, 

207 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

and hurried to Carlton House, the prince's residence; 
but she was prudent enough to take with her the 
Duchess of Devonshire, who was a reigning beauty 
of the court. 

The scene which followed was theatrical rather 
than impressive. The prince was found in his 
sleeping-chamber, pale and with his ruffles blood- 
stained. He played the part of a youthful and love- 
stricken wooer, vowing that he would marry the 
woman of his heart or stab himself again. In the 
presence of his messengers, who, with the duchess, 
were witnesses, he formally took the lady as his wife, 
while Lady Devonshire's wedding-ring sealed the 
troth. The prince also acknowledged it in a docu- 
ment. 

Mrs. Fitzherbert was, in fact, a woman of sound 
sense. Shortly after this scene of melodramatic in- 
tensity her wits came back to her, and she recog- 
nized that she had merely gone through a meaning- 
less farce. So she sent back the prince's document 
and the ring and hastened to the Continent, where 
he could not reach her, although his detectives fol- 
lowed her steps for a year. 

At the last she yielded, however, and came home 
to marry the prince in such fashion as she could — 
a marriage of love, and surely one of morality, though 
not of parliamentary law. The ceremony was per- 
formed "in her own drawing-room in her house in 
London, in the presence of the officiating Protestant 
clergyman and two of her own nearest relatives." 

Such is the serious statement of Lord Stourton, 
who was Mrs. Fitzherbert 's cousin and confidant. 
The truth of it was never denied, and Mrs. Fitz- 
herbert was always treated with respect, and even 
regarded as a person of great distinction. Never- 

?o8 



GEORGE IV. AND MRS. FITZHERBERT 

theless, on more than one occasion the prince had 
his friends in Parliament deny the marriage in order 
that his debts might be paid and new allowances 
issued to him by the Treasury. 

George certainly felt himself a husband. Like 
any other married prince, he set himself to build a 
palace for his country home. While in search of 
some suitable spot he chanced to visit the "pretty 
fishing- village " of Brighton to see his uncle, the 
Duke of Cumberland. Doubtless he found it an 
attractive place, yet this may have been not so 
much because of its view of the sea as for the reason 
that Mrs. Fitzherbert had previously lived there. 

However, in 1784 the prince sent down his chief 
cook to make arrangements for the next royal visit. 
The cook engaged a house on the spot where the 
Pavilion now stands, and from that time Brighton 
began to be an extremely fashionable place. The 
court doctors, giving advice that was agreeable, rec- 
ommended their royal patient to take sea-bathing 
at Brighton. At once the place sprang into popu- 
larity. 

At first the gentry were crowded into lodging- 
houses and the accommodations were primitive to 
a degree. But soon handsome villas arose on every 
side; hotels appeared; places of amusement were 
opened. The prince himself began to build a taste- 
less but showy structure, partly Chinese and partly 
Indian in style, on the fashionable promenade of 
the Steyne. 

During his life with Mrs. Fitzherbert at Brighton 
the prince held what was practically a court. Hun- 
dreds of the aristocracy came down from London 
and made their temporary dwellings there; while 
thousands who were by no means of the court made 

209 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

the place what is now popularly called " London 
by the Sea." There were the Due de Chartres, of 
France; statesmen and rakes, like Fox, Sheridan, 
and the Earl of Barrymore; a very beautiful woman, 
named Mrs. Couch, a favorite singer at the opera, 
to whom the prince gave at one time jewels worth 
ten thousand pounds; and a sister of the Earl of 
Barrymore, who was as notorious as her brother. 
She often took the president's chair at a club which 
George's friends had organized and which she had 
christened the Hell Fire Club. 

Such persons were not the only visitors at Brigh- 
ton. Men of much more serious demeanor came 
down to visit the prince and brought with them 
quieter society. Nevertheless, for a considerable 
time the place was most noted for its wild scenes 
of revelry, into which George frequently entered, 
though his home life with Mrs. Fitzherbert at the 
Pavilion was a decorous one. 

No one felt any doubt as to the marriage of the 
two persons, who seemed so much like a prince and 
a princess. Some of the people of the place ad- 
dressed Mrs. Fitzherbert as "Mrs. Prince." The 
old king and his wife, however, much deplored their 
son's relation with her. This was partly due to the 
fact that Mrs. Fitzherbert was a Catholic and that 
she had received a number of French nuns who had 
been driven out of France at the time of the Revo- 
lution. But no less displeasure was caused by the 
prince's racing and dicing, which swelled his debts 
to almost a million pounds, so that Parliament and, 
indeed, the sober part of England were set against 
him. 

Of course, his marriage to Mrs. Fitzherbert had 
no legal status; nor is there any reason for be- 

310 



GEORGE IV. AND MRS. FITZHERBERT 

lieving that she ever became a mother. She had 
no children by her former two husbands, and Lord 
Stourton testified positively that she never had 
either son or daughter by Prince George. Never- 
theless, more than one American claimant has risen 
to advance some utterly visionary claim to the 
English throne by reason of alleged descent from 
Prince George and Mrs. Fitzherbert. 

Neither William IV. nor Queen Victoria ever 
spent much time at Brighton. In King William's 
case it was explained that the dampness of the 
Pavilion did not suit him; and as to Queen Vic- 
toria, it was said that she disliked the fact that 
buildings had been erected so as to cut off the view 
of the sea. It is quite likely, however, that the queen 
objected to the associations of the place, and did 
not care to be reminded of the time when her uncle 
had lived there so long in a morganatic state of 
marriage. 

At length the time came when the king, Parlia- 
ment, and the people at large insisted that the Prince 
of Wales should make a legal marriage, and a wife 
was selected for him in the person of Caroline, 
daughter of the Duke of Brunswick. This marriage 
took place exactly ten years after his wedding with 
the beautiful and gentle-mannered Mrs. Fitzherbert. 
With the latter he had known many days and hours 
of happiness. With Princess Caroline he had no 
happiness at all. 

Prince George met her at the pier to greet her. It 
is said that as he took her hand he kissed her, and 
then, suddenly recoiling, he whispered to one of his 
friends : 

"For God's sake, George, give me a glass of 
brandy!" 

211 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Such an utterance was more brutal and barbaric 
than anything his bride could have conceived of, 
though it is probable, fortunately, that she did not 
understand him by reason of her ignorance of English. 

We need not go through the unhappy story of 
this unsympathetic, neglected, rebellious wife. Her 
life with the prince soon became one of open war- 
fare; but instead of leaving England she remained 
to set the kingdom in an uproar. As soon as his 
father died and he became king, George sued her 
for divorce. Half the people sided with the queen, 
while the rest regarded her as a vulgar creature 
who made love to her attendants and brought dis- 
honor on the English throne. It was a sorry, sordid 
contrast between the young Prince George who had 
posed as a sort of cavalier and this now furious 
gray old man wrangling with his furious German 
wife. 

Well might he look back to the time when he met 
Perdita in the moonlight on the Thames, or when 
he played the part of Florizel, or, better still, when 
he enjoyed the sincere and disinterested love of the 
gentle woman who was his wife in all but legal status. 
Caroline of Brunswick was thrust away from the 
king's coronation. She took a house within sight 
of Westminster Abbey, so that she might make hag- 
like screeches to the mob and to the king as he passed 
by. Presently, in August, 1821, only a month after 
the coronation, she died, and her body was taken 
back to Brunswick for burial. 

George himself reigned for nine years longer. 
When he died in 1830 his executor was the Duke of 
Wellington. The duke, in examining the late king's 
private papers, found that he had kept with the 
greatest care every letter written to him by his mor- 

212 



GEORGE IV. AND MRS. FITZHERBERT 

ganatic wife. During his last illness she had sent 
him an affectionate missive which it is said George 
"read eagerly." Mrs. Fitzherbert wished the duke 
to give up her letters; but he would do so only 
in return for those which he had written to her. 

It was finally decided that it would be best to 
burn both his and hers. This work was carried out 
in Mrs. Fitzherbert's own house by the lady, the 
duke, and the Earl of Albemarle. 

Of George it may be said that he has left as mem- 
ories behind him only three things that will be re- 
membered. The first is the Pavilion at Brighton, 
with its absurdly oriental decorations, its minarets 
and flimsy towers. The second is the buckle which 
he invented and which Thackeray has immortalized 
with his biting satire. The last is the story of his 
marriage to Maria Fitzherbert, and of the influence 
exercised upon him by the affection of a good woman. 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY AND 
ADAM LUX 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY AND ADAM LUX 

PERHAPS some of those who read this story 
will not think that it is altogether consistent 
with those that have preceded it. Yet, as it is little 
known to most readers, and as it is perhaps unique 
in the history of romantic love, I cannot forbear 
relating it; for I believe that it is full of curious in- 
terest and pathetic power. 

All those who have written of the French Revo- 
lution have paused in their chronicle of blood and 
flame to tell the episode of the peasant Royalist, 
Charlotte Corday; but in telling it they have often 
omitted the one part of the story that is personal 
and not political. The tragic record of this French 
girl and her self-sacrifice has been set forth a thou- 
sand times by writers in many languages; yet al- 
most all of them have neglected the brief romance 
which followed her daring deed and which was con- 
summated after she had met her death upon the 
guillotine. It is worth our while to speak first of 
Charlotte herself and of the man she slew, and then 
to tell that other tale which ought always to be en- 
twined with her great deed of daring. 

Charlotte Corday — or, to give her name in full, 
Marie Anne Charlotte Corday d'Armand — was a 
native of Normandy, and was descended, as her 
name implies, from noble ancestors. Her fore- 
fathers, indeed, had been statesmen, civil rulers, 
and soldiers, and among them was numbered the 
15 217 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

famous poet Corneille, whom the French rank with 
Shakespeare. But a century or more of vicissitudes 
had reduced her branch of the family almost to the 
position of peasants — a fact which partly justifies 
the name that some give her when they call her 
"the Jeanne d'Arc of the Revolution." 

She did not, however, spend her girlish years 
amid the fields and woods tending her sheep, as did 
the other Jeanne d'Arc ; but she was placed in charge 
of the sisters in a convent, and from them she re- 
ceived such education as she had. Her training 
gave her a mystic turn of mind. She was a lonely 
child, and her thoughts turned inward, brooding 
over many things. 

After she had left the convent she was sent to 
live with an aunt. Here she saw no company and 
met no visitors, but lived much as she pleased, 
reading over and over the few books which the house 
contained. These consisted largely of the deistic 
writers, especially Voltaire, and to some extent they 
destroyed her convent faith, though it is not likely 
that she understood them very fully. 

More to her taste was a copy of Plutarch's 
Lives. These famous stories fascinated her. She 
had never read anything so full of charm and so 
appealing in its vivid narration of striking incidents. 
They told her of battle and siege, of intrigue and 
heroism, and of that romantic love of country which 
led men to throw away their lives for the sake of 
a whole people. Brutus and Regulus were her 
heroes. To die for the many seemed to her the most 
glorious end that any one could seek. When she 
thought of it she thrilled with a sort of ecstasy, and 
longed with all the passion of her nature that such 
a glorious fate might be her own. 

218 




CHARLOTTE CORDAY 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY AND ADAM LUX 

Charlotte had nearly come to womanhood at the 
time when the French Revolution first broke out. 
Royalist though she had been in her sympathies, 
she felt the justice of the people's cause. She had 
seen the suffering of the peasantry, the brutality 
of the tax-gatherers, and all the oppression of the 
old regime. But what she hoped for, with many 
of her countrymen, was a democracy of order and 
equality and peace. Could the king reign as a con- 
stitutional monarch rather than as a despot, this 
was all for which she cared. 

In Normandy, where she lived, were many of those 
moderate republicans known as Girondists, who 
felt as she did and who hoped for the same peaceful 
end to the great outbreak. On the other hand, in 
Paris, the party of the Mountain, as it was called, 
ruled with a savage violence that very soon was to 
culminate in the Reign of Terror. Already the 
guillotine ran red with noble blood. Already the 
king had bowed his head to the fatal knife. Al- 
ready the threat had gone forth that an anonymous 
letter, a breath of suspicion, or a pointed finger 
might be enough to lead men and women to a gory 
death. 

In her quiet home near Caen Charlotte Corday 
heard as from afar the story of this dreadful satur- 
nalia of assassination which was making Paris a 
city of bloody mist. Men and women of the Giron- 
dist party came to tell her of the hideous deeds 
that were perpetrated there. All these horrors 
gradually wove themselves in the young girl's im- 
agination around the sinister and repulsive figure 
of Jean Paul Marat. She knew nothing of his as- 
sociates, Danton and Robespierre. It was in Marat 
alone that she saw the monster who sent thousands 

219 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

to their graves, who, as it were, licked up innocent 
blood with sanguinary joy and who reveled like 
some arch-fiend in murder and gruesome death. 

It is not unnatural that Charlotte Corday's mind 
should have drawn this frightful picture of Marat. 
It is thus that every history has drawn the man, 
down to our own times; and, after all, the Marat 
of the Revolution cannot be spoken of in milder 
terms. 

In his earlier years he had been a very different 
figure — an accomplished physician, the friend of 
nobles, a man of science and original thought, so 
that he was nearly elected to the Academy of 
Sciences. His studies in electricity gained for him 
the admiration of Benjamin Franklin and the praise 
of Goethe. But when he turned to politics he left 
all this career behind him. He plunged into the 
very mire of red republicanism, and even there he 
was for a time so much hated that he sought refuge 
in London to save his life. 

On his return he was hunted by his enemies, so 
that his only place of refuge was in the sewers and 
drains of Paris. A woman, one Simonne Evrard, 
befriended him and helped him to escape his pur- 
suers. In the sewers, however, he contracted a 
dreadful skin-disease from which he never afterward 
recovered, and which was extremely painful as well 
as shocking to behold. 

It is small wonder that the stories about Marat 
circulated through the provinces made him seem 
more a devil than a man. His vindictiveness against 
the Girondists brought all of this straight home to 
Charlotte Corday and led her to dream of acting 
the part of Brutus, so that she might free her coun- 
try from this hideous tyrant. 

22Q 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY AND ADAM LUX 

In January, 1793, King Louis XVI. met his death 
upon the scaffold; and the queen, that pitiful yet 
not ignoble figure, was thrust into a foul prison. 
This was a signal for activity among the Girondists 
in Normandy, and especially at Caen, where Char- 
lotte was present at their meetings and heard their 
fervid oratory. There was a plot to march on Paris, 
yet in some instinctive way she felt that such a 
scheme must fail. It was then that she definitely 
formed the plan of going herself, alone, to the French 
capital to seek out the hideous Marat and to kill 
him with her own hands. 

To this end she made application for a passport 
allowing her to visit Paris. This passport still exists, 
and it gives us an official description of the girl. It 
reads : 

Allow citizen Marie Corday to pass. She is twenty-four 
years of age, five feet and one inch in height, hair and eye- 
brows chestnut color, eyes gray, forehead high, mouth medium 
size, chin dimpled, and an oval face. 

Apart from this verbal description we have two 
portraits painted while she was in prison. Both of 
them make the description of the passport seem 
faint and pale. The real Charlotte had a wealth 
of chestnut hair which fell about her face and neck 
in glorious abundance. Her great gray eyes spoke 
eloquently of truth and courage. Her mouth was 
firm yet winsome, and her form combined both 
strength and grace. Such is the girl who, on reach- 
ing Paris, wrote to Marat in these words: 

Citizen, I have just arrived from Caen, Your love for your 
native place doubtless makes you wish to learn the events which 
have occurred in that part of the republic. I shall call at your 

221 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

residence in about an hour. Be so good as to receive me and 
give me a brief interview. I will put you in such condition 
as to render great service to France. 



This letter failed to gain her admission, and so 
did another which she wrote soon after. The fact 
is that Marat was grievously ill. His disease had 
reached a point where the pain could be assuaged 
only by hot water; and he spent the greater part 
of his time wrapped in a blanket and lying in a large 
tub. 

A third time, however, the persistent girl called 
at his house and insisted that she must see him, 
saying that she was herself in danger from the en- 
emies of the Republic. Through an open door Marat 
heard her mellow voice and gave orders that she 
should be admitted. She entered the room and 
closed the door. 

She gazed for a moment upon the lank figure 
rolling in the tub, the ratlike face, and the shifting 
eyes. Then she approached him. In the bosom of 
her dress was a long carving-knife which she had 
purchased for two francs and which she carefully 
concealed. In answer to Marat's questioning look 
she told him that there was much excitement at 
Caen and that the Girondists were plotting there. 

To this Marat answered, in his harsh, grating voice : 

"All these men you mention shall be guillotined 
in the next few days!" 

As he spoke Charlotte flashed out the terrible 
knife and with all her strength she plunged it into 
his left side, where it pierced a lung and a portion 
of his heart. 

Marat, with the blood gushing from his mouth, 
cried out: 

222 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY AND ADAM LUX 

"Help, darling!" 

His cry was meant for one of the two women in 
the house. Both heard it, for they were in the next 
room; and both of them rushed in and succeeded 
in pinioning Charlotte Corday, who, indeed, made 
only a slight effort to escape. Troops were sum- 
moned, she was taken through immense crowds to 
the Prison de l'Abbaye, and soon after she was ar- 
raigned before the revolutionary tribunal. 

Placed in the dock, she glanced about her with an 
air r of pride, as of one who gloried in the act which 
she had just performed. A written charge was read. 
She was asked what she had to say. Lifting her 
head with a look of infinite satisfaction, she answered 
in a ringing voice: 

"Nothing — except that I succeeded!" 

A lawyer was assigned for her defense. He pleaded 
for her earnestly, declaring that she must be re- 
garded as insane; but those clear, calm eyes and 
that gentle face made her sanity a matter of little 
doubt. She showed her quick wit in the answers 
which she gave to the rough prosecutor, Fouquier- 
Tinville, who tried to make her confess that she 
had accomplices and to wring from her their names. 

"Who prompted you to do this deed?" roared 
Tinville. 

"I needed no prompting. My own heart was 
sufficient." 

"In what, then, had Marat wronged you?" 

"He was a savage beast who was going to destroy 
the remains of France in the fires of civil war." 

"But whom did you expect to benefit?" insinu- 
ated the prosecutor. 

"I have killed one man to save a hundred thou- 
sand." 

223 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

"What? Did you imagine that you had mur- 
dered all the Marats?" 

"No, but, this one being dead, the rest will per- 
haps take warning." 

Thus her directness baffled all the efforts of the 
prosecution to trap her into betraying any of her 
friends. The court, however, sentenced her to death. 
She was then immured in the Conciergerie. 

This dramatic court scene was the beginning of 
that strange, brief romance to which one can scarcely 
find a parallel. At the time there was domiciled in 
Paris a young German named Adam Lux. The 
continual talk about Charlotte Corday had filled 
him with curiosity regarding this young girl who 
had been so daring and so patriotic. She was de- 
nounced on every hand as a murderess with the face 
of a Medusa and the muscles of a Vulcan. Street 
songs about her were dinned into the ears of Adam 
Lux. 

As a student of human nature he was anxious to 
see this terrible creature. He forced his way to the 
front of the crowded benches in the court-room and 
took his stand behind a young artist who was finish- 
ing a beautiful sketch. From that moment until 
the end of the trial the eyes of Adam Lux were fas- 
tened on the prisoner. What a contrast to the pic- 
ture he had imagined! 

A mass of regal chestnut hair crowned with the 
white cap of a Norman peasant girl; gray eyes, 
very sad and serious, but looking serenely forth 
from under long, dark lashes; lips slightly curved 
with an expression of quiet humor; a face the color 
of the sun and wind, a bust indicative of perfect 
health, the chin of a Caesar, and the whole expres- 
sion one of almost divine self-sacrifice. Such were 

224 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY AND ADAM LUX 

the features that the painter was swiftly putting 
upon his canvas; but behind them Adam Lux dis- 
cerned the soul for which he gladly sacrificed both 
his liberty and his life. 

He forgot his surroundings and seemed to see 
only that beautiful, pure face and to hear only the 
exquisite cadences of the wonderful voice. When 
Charlotte was led forth by a file of soldiers Adam 
staggered from the scene and made his way as best 
he might to his lodgings. There he lay prostrate, 
his whole soul filled with the love of her who had 
in an instant won the adoration of his heart. 

Once, and only once again, when the last scene 
opened on the tragedy, did he behold the heroine 
of his dreams. 

On the 17th of July Charlotte Corday was taken 
from her prison to the gloomy guillotine. It was 
toward evening, and nature had given a setting fit 
for such an end. Blue-black thunder-clouds rolled 
in huge masses across the sky until their base ap- 
peared to rest on the very summit of the guillotine. 
Distant thunder rolled and rumbled beyond the 
river. Great drops of rain fell upon the soldiers' 
drums. Young, beautiful, unconscious of any wrong, 
Charlotte Corday stood beneath the shadow of the 
knife. 

At the supreme moment a sudden ray from the set- 
ting sun broke through the cloud-wrack and fell upon 
her slender"! figure until she glowed in the eyes of 
the startled spectators like a statue cut in burnished 
bronze. Thus illumined, as it were, by a light from 
heaven itself, she bowed herself beneath the knife 
and paid the penalty of a noble, if misdirected, im- 
pulse. As the blade fell her lips quivered with her 
last and only plea: 

225 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

"My duty is enough — the rest is nothing!" 
Adam Lux rushed from the scene a man trans- 
formed. He bore graven upon his heart neither 
the mob of tossing red caps nor the glare of the 
sunset nor the blood-stained guillotine, but that 
last look from those brilliant eyes. The sight almost 
deprived him of his reason. He grew drunk with 
death. The self-sacrifice of the only woman he had 
ever loved, even though she had never so much as 
seen him, impelled him with a sort of fury to his 
own destruction. 

He wrote a bitter denunciation of the judges, 
of the officers, and of all who had been followers of 
Marat. This document he printed, and scattered 
copies of it through every quarter in Paris. The 
last sentences are as follows: 

The guillotine is no longer a disgrace. It has become a sacred 
altar, from which every taint has been removed by the inno- 
cent blood shed there on the 17th of July. Forgive me, my 
divine Charlotte, if I find it impossible at the last moment 
to show the courage and the gentleness that were yours! I 
glory because you are superior to me, for it is right that she 
who is adored should be higher and more glorious than her 
adorer! 

This pamphlet, spread broadcast among the 
people, was soon reported to the leaders of the 
rabble. Adam Lux was arrested for treason against 
the Republic ; but even these men had no desire to 
make a martyr of this hot-headed youth. They 
would stop his mouth without taking his life. There- 
fore he was tried and speedily found guilty, but an 
offer was made him that he might have passports 
that would allow him to return to Germany if only 
he would sign a retraction of his printed words, 

226 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY AND ADAM LUX 

Little did the judges understand the fiery heart 
of the man they had to deal with. To die on the 
same scaffold as the woman whom he had idealized 
was to him the crowning triumph of his romantic 
love. He gave a prompt and insolent refusal to 
their offer. He swore that if released he would 
denounce his darling's murderers with a still greater 
passion. 

In anger the tribunal sentenced him to death. 
Only then he smiled and thanked his judges cour- 
teously, and soon after went blithely to the guil- 
lotine like a bridegroom to his marriage feast. 

Adam Lux! Spirit courtship had been carried 
on silently all through that terrible cross-examina- 
tion of Charlotte Corday. His heart was betrothed 
to hers in that single gleam of the setting sun when 
she bowed beneath the knife. One may believe that 
these two souls were finally united when the same 
knife fell sullenly upon his neck and when his life- 
blood sprinkled the altar that was still stained with 
hers. 



NAPOLEON AND MARIE 
WALEWSKA 



NAPOLEON AND MARIE WALEWSKA 

THERE are four women who may be said to 
have deeply influenced the life of Napoleon. 
These four are the only ones who need to be taken 
into account by the student of his imperial career. 
The great emperor was susceptible to feminine 
charms at all times; but just as it used to be said 
of him that "his smile never rose above his eyes," 
so it might as truly be said that in most instances 
the throbbing of his heart did not affect his actions. 

Women to him were the creatures of the moment, 
although he might seem to care for them and to 
show his affection in extravagant ways, as in his 
affair with Mile. Georges, the beautiful but rather 
tiresome actress. As for Mme. de Stael, she bored 
him to distraction by her assumption of wisdom. 
That was not the kind of woman that Napoleon 
cared for. He preferred that a woman should be 
womanly, and not a sort of owl to sit and talk with 
him about the theory of government. 

When it came to married women they interested 
him only because of the children they might bear 
to grow up as recruits for his insatiate armies. At 
the public balls given at the Tuileries he would walk 
about the gorgeous drawing-rooms, and when a lady 
was presented to him he would snap out, sharply : 

"How many children have you?" 

If she were able to answer that she had several 

231 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

the emperor would looked pleased and would pay 
her some compliment which might or might not 
smack of the camp; but if she said that she had 
none he would turn upon her sharply and say: 

"Then go home and have some!" 

Of the four women who influenced his life, first 
must come Josephine, because she secured him his 
earliest chance of advancement. She met him 
through B arras, with whom she was said to be rather 
intimate. The young soldier was fascinated by her 
— the more because she was, older than he and pos- 
sessed all the practised arts of the Creole and the 
woman of the world. When she married him she 
brought him as her dowry the command of the army 
of Italy, where in a few months he made the tri- 
color, borne by ragged troops, triumphant over the 
splendidly equipped hosts of Austria. 

She was his first love, and his knowledge of her 
perfidy gave him the greatest shock and horror of 
his whole life; yet she might have held him to the 
end if she had borne an heir to the imperial throne. 
It was her failure to do so that kept Napoleon un- 
easily thinking of another wife, until he did actu- 
ally divorce Josephine and marry the thick-lipped, 
Marie Louise of Austria. There were times later 
when he showed signs of regret and said : 

"I have had no luck since I gave up Josephine!" 

Marie Louise was of importance for a time — the 
short time when she entertained her husband and 
delighted him by giving birth to the little King of 
Rome. Yet in the end -she was but an episode; 
fleeing from her husband in his misfortune, becom- 
ing the mistress of Count Neipperg, and letting her 
son — VAiglon — die in a land that was far from 
France. 

232 



NAPOLEON AND MARIE WALEWSKA 

Napoleon's sister, Pauline Bonaparte, was the 
third woman who comes to mind when we contem- 
plate the great Corsican's career. She, too, is an 
episode. During the period of his ascendancy she 
plagued him with her wanton ways, her sauciness 
and trickery. It was amusing to throw him into one 
of his violent rages; but Pauline was true at heart, 
and when her great brother was sent to Elba she 
followed him devotedly and gave him all her store 
of jewels, including the famous Borghese diamonds, 
perhaps the most superb of all gems known to the 
western world. She would gladly have followed 
him, also, to St. Helena had this been permitted by 
the English government. Remaining behind, she 
did everything possible in conspiring to secure his 
freedom. 

But, after all, Pauline and Marie Louise count 
for comparatively little. Josephine's fate was in- 
terwoven with Napoleon's; and, with his Corsican 
superstition, he often said so. The fourth woman, 
of whom I am writing here, may be said to have 
almost equaled Josephine in her influence on the 
emperor as well as in the pathos of her life-story. 

On New- Year's Day of 1807 Napoleon, who was 
then almost Emperor of Europe, passed through 
the little town of Bronia, in Poland. He was riding 
with his cavalry to Warsaw, the ancient capital of 
the Polish kingdom. No wonder that he seemed a 
very demigod of battle! 

True, he had had to abandon his long-cherished 
design of invading and overrunning England, and 
Nelson had shattered his fleets and practically 
driven his flag from the sea; but the naval disaster 
of Trafalgar had speedily been followed by the 
triumph of Austerlitz, the greatest and most brill- 

16 233 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

iant of all Napoleon's victories, which left Austria 
and Russia humbled to the very ground before him. 

Then Prussia had dared to defy the overbearing 
conqueror and had put into the field against him 
her armies trained by Frederick the Great ; but these 
he had shattered almost at a stroke, winning in one 
day the decisive battles of Jena and Auerstadt. He 
had stabled his horses in the royal palace of the 
Hohenzollerns and had pursued the remnant of 
the Prussian forces to the Russian border. 

As he marched into the Polish provinces the 
people swarmed by thousands to meet him and hail 
him as their country's savior. They believed down 
to the very last that Bonaparte would make the 
Poles once more a free and independent nation and 
rescue them from the tyranny of Russia. 

Napoleon played upon this feeling in every man- 
ner known to his artful mind. He used it to alarm 
the Czar. He used it to intimidate the Emperor 
of Austria, since the Hapsburgs possessed a part 
of Poland. But more especially did he use it among 
the Poles themselves to win for his armies thousands 
upon thousands of gallant soldiers, who believed 
that in fighting for Napoleon they were fighting 
for the final independence of their native land. 

Therefore, with the intensity of patriotism which 
is a passion among the Poles, every man and every 
woman gazed at Napoleon with something like ador- 
ation; for was not he the mighty warrior who had 
in his gift what all desired? Soldiers of every rank 
swarmed to his standards. Princes and nobles 
flocked about him. Those who stayed at home re- 
peated wonderful stories of his victories and prayed 
for him and fed the flame which spread through all 
the country. It was felt that no sacrifice was too 

234 



NAPOLEON AND MARIE WALEWSKA 

great to win his favor; that to him, as to a deity, 
everything that he desired should be yielded up, 
since he was to restore the liberty of Poland. 

And hence, when the carriage of the emperor 
dashed into Bronia, surrounded by Polish lancers 
and French cuirassiers, the enormous crowd surged 
forward and blocked the way so that their hero 
could not pass because of their cheers and cries and 
supplications. 

In the midst of it all there came a voice of peculiar 
sweetness from the thickest portion of the crowd. 

"Please let me pass!" said the voice. "Let me 
see him, if only for a moment!" 

The populace rolled backward, and through the 
lane which they made a beautiful girl with dark 
blue eyes that flamed and streaming hair that had 
become loosened about her radiant face was con- 
fronting the emperor. Carried away by her en- 
thusiasm, she cried: 

"Thrice welcome to Poland! We can do or say 
nothing to express our joy in the country which you 
will surely deliver from its tyrant." 

The emperor bowed and, with a smile, handed 
a great bouquet of roses to the girl, for her beauty 
and her enthusiasm had made a deep impression on 
him. 

"Take it," said he, "as a proof of my admiration. 
I trust that I may have the pleasure of meeting you 
at Warsaw and of hearing your thanks from those 
beautiful lips." 

In a moment more the trumpets rang out shrilly, 
the horsemen closed up beside the imperial carriage, 
and it rolled away amid the tumultuous shouting 
of all who had witnessed this graceful scene. 

The girl who had so attracted Napoleon's atten- 

235 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

tion was Marie Walewska, descended from an an- 
cient though impoverished family in Poland. When 
she was only fifteen — though she had only her 
beauty for a dowry — she was courted by one of the 
wealthiest men in Poland, the Count Walewska. 
He was three or four times her age, yet her dark 
blue eyes, her massive golden hair, and the exquisite 
grace of her figure led him to plead that she might 
become his wife. She had accepted him, but the 
marriage was that of a mere child, and her interest 
still centered upon her country and took the form 
of patriotism rather than that of wifehood and 
maternity. 

It was for this reason that the young Countess 
Walewska had visited Bronia. She was now eigh- 
teen years of age and still had the sort of romantic 
feeling which led her to think that she would keep 
in some secret hiding-place the cluster of flowers 
which the greatest man alive had given her. 

But Napoleon was not the sort of man to forget 
anything that had given him either pleasure or the 
reverse. He who, at the height of his cares, could 
recall instantly how many cannon were in each sea- 
port of France and could make out an accurate list 
of all his military stores ; he who could call by name 
every soldier in his guard, with a full remembrance 
of the battles each man had fought in and the 
honors that he had won — he was not likely to for- 
get so lovely a face as the one which had gleamed 
with peculiar radiance through the crowd at Bronia. 

On reaching Warsaw he asked one or two well- 
informed persons about this beautiful stranger. Only 
a few hours had passed before Prince Poniatowski, 
accompanied by other nobles, called upon her at 
her home. 

236 



NAPOLEON AND MARIE WALEWSKA 

"I am directed, madam," said he, "by order of 
the Emperor of France, to bid you to be present 
at a ball that is to be given in his honor to-morrow 
evening. ' ' 

Mme. Walewska was startled, and her face grew 
hot with blushes. Did the emperor remember her 
escapade at Bronia? If so, how had he discovered 
her? Why should he seek her out and do her such 
an honor? 

"That, madam, is his imperial majesty's affair,' ' 
Poniatowski told her. "I merely obey his instruc- 
tions and ask your presence at the ball. Perhaps 
Heaven has marked you out to be the means of 
saving our unhappy country." 

In this way, by playing on her patriotism, Poni- 
atowski almost persuaded her, and yet something 
held her back. She trembled, though she was 
greatly fascinated; and finally she refused to go. 

Scarcely had the envoy left her, however, when 
a great company of nobles entered in groups and 
begged her to humor the emperor and not to run 
the risk of angering him. Finally her own husband 
joined in their entreaties and actually command- 
ed her to go; so at last she was compelled to 
yield. 

It was by no means the frank and radiant girl 
who was now preparing again to meet the emperor. 
She knew not why, and yet her heart was full of 
trepidation and nervous fright, the cause of which 
she could not guess, yet which made her task a 
severe ordeal. She dressed herself in white satin, 
with no adornment save a wreath of foliage in her 
hair. 

As she entered the ballroom she was welcomed 
by hundreds whom she had never seen before, but 

237 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

who were of the highest nobility of Poland. Mur- 
murs of admiration followed her, and finally Poni- 
atowski came to her and complimented her, besides 
bringing her a message that the emperor desired 
her to dance with him. 

"I do not dance," she said. "I do not wish to 
dance." 

"But, madam, the emperor will be much dis- 
pleased if you refuse. The whole success of the ball 
depends on you." 

"I am very sorry," she answered, with a quiver 
of the lips, "but I really cannot. Be kind enough 
to ask the emperor to excuse me." 

But at that very moment she felt some strange 
magnetic influence; and without looking up she 
could feel that Napoleon himself was standing by 
her as she sat with blanched face and downcast 
eyes, not daring to look up at him. 

"White upon white is a mistake, madam," said 
the emperor, in his gentlest tones. Then, stooping 
low, he whispered, "I had expected a far different 
reception." 

She neither smiled nor met his eyes. He stood 
there for a moment and then passed on, leaving her 
to return to her home with a heavy heart. The 
young countess felt that she had acted wrongly, 
and yet there was an instinct — an instinct that she 
could not conquer. 

In the gray of the morning, while she was still 
tossing feverishly, her maid knocked at the door 
and brought her a hastily scribbled note. It ran 
as follows: 

I saw none but you, I admired none but you; I desire only 
you. Answer at once, and calm the impatient ardor of — 

N. 
238 



NAPOLEON AND MARIE WALEWSKA 

These passionate words burned from her eyes the 
veil that had hidden the truth from her. What be- 
fore had been mere blind instinct became an actual 
verity. Why had she at first rushed forth into the 
very streets to hail the possible deliverer of her 
country, and then why had she shrunk from him 
when he sought to honor her ? It was all clear enough 
now. This bedside missive meant that he had in- 
tended her dishonor and that he had looked upon 
her simply as a possible mistress. 

At once she crushed the note angrily in her hand. 

''There is no answer at all," said she, bursting 
into bitter tears at the very thought that he should 
dare to treat her in this way. 

But on the following morning when she awoke 
her maid was standing beside her with a second 
letter from Napoleon. Her anger was enhanced. 
Refusing to open it and placing it in a packet with 
the first letter, she ordered that both of them should 
be returned to the emperor. 

She shrank from speaking to her husband of what 
had happened, and there was no one else in whom 
she dared confide. All through that day there came 
hundreds of visitors, either of princely rank or men 
who had won fame by their gallantry and courage. 
They all begged to see her, but to them all she sent 
one answer — that she was ill and could see no one. 

After a time her husband burst into her room, 
berated her for her unreasonable conduct, and in- 
sisted that she should see them. 

"Why," exclaimed he, "you are insulting the 
greatest men and the noblest women of Poland! 
More than that, there are some of the most dis- 
tinguished Frenchmen sitting at your doorstep, as 
it were. There is Duroc, grand marshal of France, 

239 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

and in refusing to see him you are insulting the great 
emperor on whom depends everything that our 
country longs for. It seems that Napoleon has in- 
vited you to a state dinner and that you have given 
him no answer whatever. Are you a madwoman, 
or are you merely giving yourself airs? I order you 
to rise at once and receive these ladies and gentle- 
men who have done you so much honor!" 

She could not refuse. Presently she appeared in 
her drawing-room, where she was at once surrounded 
by an immense throng of her own countrymen and 
countrywomen, who made no pretense of misunder- 
standing the situation. To them, what was one 
woman's honor when compared with the freedom 
and independence of their nation? She was over- 
whelmed by arguments and entreaties. She was 
even accused of being disloyal to the cause of Po- 
land if she refused her consent. 

One of the strangest documents of that period 
was a letter sent to her and signed by the noblest 
men in Poland. It contained a powerful appeal 
to her patriotism. One remarkable passage even 
quotes the Bible to point out her line of duty. A 
portion of this letter ran as follows. 

Did Esther, think you, give herself to Ahasuerus out of the 
fullness of her love for him? So great was the terror with which 
he inspired her that she fainted at the sight of him. We may 
therefore conclude that affection had but little to do with her 
resolve. She sacrificed her own inclinations to the salvation 
of her country, and that salvation it was her glory to achieve. 
May we be enabled to say the same of you, to your glory and 
our own happiness! 

After this letter came others from Napoleon him- 
self, full of the most humble pleading. It was not 
wholly distasteful thus to have the conqueror of 

240 



NAPOLEON AND MARIE WALEWSKA 

the world seek her out and offer her his adoration 
any more than it was distasteful to think that the 
revival of her own nation depended on her single 
will. M. Frederic Masson, whose minute studies 
regarding everything relating to Napoleon have won 
him a seat in the French Academy, writes of Marie 
Walewska at this time: 

Every force was now brought into play against her. Her 
country, her friends, her religion, the Old and the New Testa- 
ments, all urged her to yield; they all combined for the ruin 
of a simple and inexperienced girl of eighteen who had no par- 
ents, whose husband even thrust her into temptation, and whose 
friends thought that her downfall would be her glory. 

Amid all these powerful influences she consented 
to attend the dinner. To her gratification Napo- 
leon treated her with distant courtesy, and, in fact, 
with a certain coldness. 

"I heard that Mme. Walewska was indisposed. 
I trust that she has recovered," was all the greeting 
that he gave her when they met. 

Every one else with whom she spoke overwhelmed 
her with flattery and with continued urging; but 
the emperor himself for a time acted as if she had 
displeased him so deeply that he had lost his in- 
terest in her. This was consummate art; for as 
soon as she was relieved of her fears she began to 
regret that she had thrown her power away. 

During the dinner she let her eyes wander to 
those of the emperor almost in supplication. He, 
the subtlest of men, knew that he had won. His 
marvelous eyes met hers and drew her attention 
to him as by an electric current; and when the 
ladies left the great dining-room Napoleon sought 
her out, pressed her hand, and whispered in her ear 
a few words of ardent love. 

241 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

It was too little to alarm her seriously now. It 
was enough to make her feel that magnetism which 
Napoleon knew so well how to evoke and exercise. 
Again every one crowded about her with congratu- 
lations, both personal and patriotic. Some said: 

"He never even saw any of us. His eyes were 
all for you! They flashed fire as he looked at you." 

"You have conquered his heart," others said, 
"and you can do what you like with him. The 
salvation of Poland is in your hands." 

The company broke up at an early hour, but 
Mme. Walewska was asked to remain. When she 
was alone General Duroc — one of the emperor's 
favorite officers and most trusted lieutenants — en- 
tered and placed a letter from Napoleon in her lap. 
He tried to tell her as tactfully as possible how 
much harm she was doing by refusing the imperial 
request. She was deeply affected, and presently, 
when Duroc left her, she opened the letter which 
he had given her and read it. It was worded thus: 

There are times when all splendors become oppressive, as I 
feel but too deeply at the present moment. How can I satisfy 
the desires of a heart that yearns to cast itself at your feet, 
when its impulses are checked at every point by considerations 
of the highest moment? Oh, if you would, you alone might 
overcome the obstacles that keep us apart. My friend Duroc 
will make all easy for you. Oh, come, come! Your every wish 
shall be gratified! Your country will be dearer to me when you 
take pity on my poor heart. N. 

Every chance of escape seemed to be closed. She 
had Napoleon's own word that he would free Poland 
in return for her self-sacrifice. Moreover, her powers 
of resistance had been so weakened that, like many 
women, she temporized. She decided that she would 
meet the emperor alone. She would tell him that 

242 



NAPOLEON AND MARIE WALEWSKA 

she did not love him, and yet would olead with him 
to save her beloved country. 

As she sat there every tick of the clock stirred 
her to a new excitement. At last there came a knock 
upon the door, a cloak was thrown about her from 
behind, a heavy veil was drooped about her golden 
hair, and she was led, by whom she knew not, to the 
street, where a finely appointed carriage was wait- 
ing for her. 

No sooner had she entered it than she was driven 
rapidly through the darkness to the beautifully 
carved entrance of a palace. Half led, half carried, 
she was taken up the steps to a door which was 
eagerly opened by some one within. There were 
warmth and light and color and the scent of flowers 
as she was placed in a comfortable arm-chair. Her 
wrappings were taken from her, the door was closed 
behind her; and then, as she looked up, she found 
herself in the presence of Napoleon, who was kneel- 
ing at her feet and uttering soothing words. 

Wisely, the emperor used no violence. He merely 
argued with her; he told her over and over his love 
for her; and finally he declared that for her sake 
he would make Poland once again a strong and 
splendid kingdom. 

Several hours passed. In the early morning, be- 
fore daylight, there came a knock at the door. 

"Already?" said Napoleon. "Well, my plaintive 
dove, go home and rest. You must not fear the 
eagle. In time you will come to love him, and in 
all things you shall command him." 

Then he led her to the door, but said that he 
would not open it unless she promised to see him 
the next day — a promise which she gave the more 
readily because he had treated her with such respect. 

243 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

On the following morning her faithful maid came 
to her bedside with a cluster of beautiful violets, 
a letter, and several daintily made morocco cases. 
When these were opened there leaped out strings 
and necklaces of exquisite diamonds, blazing in the 
morning sunlight. Mine. Walewska seized the jewels 
and flung them across the room with an order that 
they should be taken back at once to the imperial 
giver; but the letter, which was in the same romantic 
strain as the others, she retained. 

On that same evening there was another dinner, 
given to the emperor by the nobles, and Marie 
Walewska attended it, but of course without the 
diamonds, which she had returned. Nor did she 
wear the flowers which had accompanied the dia- 
monds. 

When Napoleon met her he frowned upon her 
and made her tremble with the cold glances that 
shot from his eyes of steel. He scarcely spoke to 
her throughout the meal, but those who sat beside 
her were earnest in their pleading. 

This time again she waited until the guests had 
gone away, and with a lighter heart, since she felt 
that she had actually nothing to fear. But when 
she met Napoleon in his private cabinet, alone, his 
mood was very different from that which he had 
shown before. Instead of gentleness and consid- 
eration he was the Napoleon of camps, and not of 
courts. He greeted her bruskly. 

"I scarcely expected to see you again," said he. 
''Why did you refuse my diamonds and my flowers? 
Why did you avoid my eyes at dinner? Your cold- 
ness is an insult which I shall not brook." Then 
he raised his voice to that rasping, almost blood- 
curdling tone which even his hardiest soldiers 

244 



NAPOLEON AND MARIE WALEWSKA 

dreaded: "I will have you know that I mean to 
conquer you. You shall — yes, I repeat it, you shall 
love me ! I have restored the name of your country. 
It owes its very existence to me." 

Then he resorted to a trick which he had played 
years before in dealing with the Austrians at Campo 
Formio. 

"See this watch which I am holding in my hand. 
Just as I dash it to fragments before you, so will I 
shatter Poland if you drive me to desperation by 
rejecting my heart and refusing me your own." 

As he spoke he hurled the watch against the op- 
posite wall with terrific force, dashing it to pieces. 
In terror, Mme. Walewska fainted. When she re- 
sumed consciousness there was Napoleon wiping 
away her tears with the tenderness of a woman and 
with words of self-reproach. 

The long siege was over. Napoleon had con- 
quered, and this girl of eighteen gave herself up to 
his caresses and endearments, thinking that, after 
all, her love of country was more than her own 
honor. 

Her husband, as a matter of form, put her away 
from him, though at heart he approved what she 
had done, while the Polish people regarded her as 
nothing less than a national heroine. To them she 
was no minister to the vices of an emperor, buc 
rather one who would make him love Poland for 
her sake and restore its greatness. And so every 
day, when she visited the emperor, those who saw 
her waved her a cordial greeting and blessed her 
as the savior of her country. 

So far as concerned his love for her, it was, indeed, 
almost idolatry. He honored her in every way and 
spent all the time at his disposal in her company, 

245 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

But his promise to restore Poland he never kept, 
and gradually she found that he had never meant 
to keep it. 

"I love your country," he would say, "and I am 
willing to aid in the attempt to uphold its rights, 
but my first duty is to France. I cannot shed 
French blood in a foreign cause." 

By this time, however, Marie Walewska had 
learned to love Napoleon for his own sake. She 
could not resist his ardor, which matched the ardor 
of the Poles themselves. Moreover, it flattered her 
to see the greatest soldier in the world a suppliant 
for her smiles. 

"It is my great privilege," he once said to her, 
according to Masson, "to be a leader of nations. 
Once I was an acorn; now I am an oak. Yet when 
I am the oak to all others, I am glad to become the 
acorn for you." 

For some years she was Napoleon's close com- 
panion, spending long hours with him and finally 
accompanying him to Paris. She was the mother 
of Napoleon's only son who lived to manhood. This 
son, who bore the name of Alexandre Florian de 
Walewski, was born in Poland in 1810, and later 
was created a count and duke of the second French 
Empire. It may be said parenthetically that he 
was a man of great ability. Living down to 1868, 
he was made much of by Napoleon III., who placed 
him in high offices of state, which he filled with dis- 
tinction. In contrast with the Due de Morny, who 
was Napoleon's illegitimate half-brother, Alexandre 
de Walewski stood out in brilliant contrast. He 
would have nothing to do with stock- jobbing and 
unseemly speculation. 

"I may be poor," he said — though he was not 

246 



NAPOLEON AND MARIE WALEWSKA 

poor — "but at least I remember the glory of my 
father and what is due to his great name." 

As for Mme. Walewska, she was loyal to the em- 
peror, and lacked the greed of many women whom 
he had made his favorites. Even at Elba, when he 
was in exile and disgrace, she visited him that she 
might endeavor to console him. She was his coun- 
selor and friend as well as his earnestly loved mate. 
When she died in Paris in 1817, while the dethroned 
emperor was a prisoner at St. Helena, the word 
"Napoleon" was the last upon her lips. 



THE STORY OF PAULINE 
BONAPARTE 



THE STORY OF PAULINE BONAPARTE 

IT was said of Napoleon long ago that he could 
govern emperors and kings, but that not even 
he could rule his relatives. He himself once de- 
clared : 

"My family have done me far more harm than I 
have been able to do them good." 

It would be an interesting historical study to 
determine just how far the great soldier's family 
aided in his downfall by their selfishness, their jeal- 
ousy, their meanness, and their ingratitude. 

There is something piquant in thinking of Na- 
poleon as a domestic sort of person. Indeed, it is 
rather difficult to do so. When we speak his name 
we think of the stern warrior hurling his armies up 
bloody slopes and on to bloody victory. He is the 
man whose steely eyes made his haughtiest marshals 
tremble, or else the wise, far-seeing statesman and 
lawgiver; but decidedly he is not a household model. 
We read of his sharp speech to women, of his out- 
rageous manners at the dinner-table, and of the 
thousand and one details which Mme. de Remusat 
has chronicled — and perhaps in part invented, for 
there has always existed the suspicion that her ani- 
mus was that of a woman who had herself sought 
the imperial favor and had failed to win it. 

But, in fact, all these stories relate to the Napo- 
leon of courts and palaces, and not to the Napoleon 

251 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

of home. In his private life this great man was 
not merely affectionate and indulgent, but he even 
showed a certain weakness where his relatives were 
concerned, so that he let them prey upon him al- 
most without end. 

He had a great deal of the Italian largeness and 
lavishness of character with his family. When a 
petty officer he nearly starved himself in order to 
give his younger brother, Louis, a military education. 
He was devotedly fond of children, and they were 
fond of him, as many anecdotes attest. His pas- 
sionate love for Josephine before he learned of her 
infidelity is almost painful to read of; and even 
afterward, when he had been disillusioned, and when 
she was paying Fouche a thousand francs a day to 
spy upon Napoleon's every action, he still treated 
her with friendliness and allowed her extravagance 
to embarrass him. 

He made his eldest brother, Joseph, King of Spain, 
and Spain proved almost as deadly to him as did 
Russia. He made his youngest brother, Jerome, 
King of Westphalia, and Jerome turned the palace 
into a pigsty and brought discredit on the very 
name of Bonaparte. His brother Louis, for whom 
he had starved himself, he placed upon the throne 
of Holland, and Louis promptly devoted himself 
to his own interests, conniving at many things 
which were inimical to France. He was planning 
high advancement for his brother Lucien, and Lucien 
suddenly married a disreputable actress and fled 
with her to England, where he was received with 
pleasure by the most persistent of all Napoleon's 
enemies. 

So much for his brothers— incompetent, ungrate- 
ful, or openly his foes. But his three sisters were 

252 





PAULINE BONAPARTE 



THE STORY OF PAULINE BONAPARTE 

no less remarkable in the relations which they bore 
to him. They have been styled "the three crowned 
courtesans," and they have been condemned to- 
gether as being utterly void of principle and mon- 
sters of ingratitude. 

Much of this censure was well deserved by all of 
them — by Caroline and Elise and Pauline. I But when 
we look at the facts impartially we shall find some- 
thing which makes Pauline stand out alone as in- 
finitely superior to her sisters. Of all the Bona- 
partes she was the only one who showed fidelity 
and gratitude to the great emperor, her brother. 
Even Mme. Mere, Napoleon's mother, who beyond 
all question transmitted to him his great mental 
and physical power, did nothing for him. At the 
height of his splendor she hoarded sous and francs 
and grumblingly remarked: 

"All this is for a time. It isn't going to last!" 

Pauline, however, was in one respect different 
from all her kindred. Napoleon made Elise a prin- 
cess in her own right and gave her the Grand Duchy 
of Tuscany. He married Caroline to Marshal Murat, 
and they became respectively King and Queen of 
Naples. For Pauline he did very little — less, in fact, 
than for any other member of his family — and yet 
she alone stood by him to the end. 

This feather-headed, languishing, beautiful, dis- 
tracting morsel of frivolity, who had the manners 
of a kitten and the morals of a cat, nevertheless was 
not wholly unworthy to be Napoleon's sister. One 
has to tell many hard things of her; and yet one 
almost pardons her because of her underlying de- 
votion to the man who made the name of Bonaparte 
illustrious for ever. Caroline, Queen of Naples, 
urged her husband to turn against his former chief. 

253 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Elise, sour and greedy, threw in her fortunes with 
the Murats. Pauline, as we shall see, had the one 
redeeming trait of gratitude. 

To those who knew her she was from girlhood 
an incarnation of what used to be called ''femi- 
ninity." We have to-day another and a higher defi- 
nition of womanhood, but to her contemporaries, 
and to many modern winters, she has seemed to be 
first of all woman — "woman to the tips of her rosy 
finger-nails," says Levy. Those who saw her were 
distracted by her loveliness. They say that no one 
can form any idea of her beauty from her pictures. 
"A veritable masterpiece of creation," she had been 
called. Frederic Masson declares: 

She was so much more the typical woman that with her the 
defects common to women reached their highest development, 
while her beauty attained a perfection which may justly be 
called' unique. 

No one speaks of Pauline Bonaparte's character 
or of her intellect, but wholly of her loveliness and 
charm, and, it must be added, of her utter lack of 
anything like a moral sense. Thus she is described : 

Of medium height, with a wonderful roseate complexion, brill- 
iant eyes, dark hair, a Grecian profile, and such a perfectly 
formed body that she sat as a nude model to Canova for his 
famous statue of Venus now in the Villa Borghese at Rome. 

Even as a child of thirteen, when the Bonapartes 
left Corsica and took up their abode in Marseilles, 
she attracted universal attention by her wonderful 
eyes, her grace, and also by the utter lack of decorum 
which she showed. The Bonaparte girls at this 
time lived almost on charity. The future emperor 
was then a captain of artillery and could give them 
but little out of his scanty pay. 

254 



THE STORY OF PAULINE BONAPARTE 

Pauline — or, as they called her in those days, 
Paulette — wore unbecoming hats and shabby gowns, 
and shoes that were full of holes. None the less, she 
was sought out by several men of note, among them 
Freron, a commissioner of the Convention. He 
visited Pauline so often as to cause unfavorable 
comment; but he was in love with her, and she fell 
in love with him to the extent of her capacity. She 
used to write him love letters in Italian, which were 
certainly not lacking in ardor. Here is the end of 
one of them: 

I love you always and most passionately. I love you for ever, 
my beautiful idol, my heart, my appealing lover. I love you, 
love you, love you, the most loved of lovers, and I swear never 
to love any one else! 

This was interesting in view of the fact that soon 
afterward she fell in love with Junot, who became 
a famous marshal. But her love affairs never gave 
her any serious trouble; and the three sisters, who 
now began to feel the influence of Napoleon's rise 
to power, enjoyed themselves as they had never 
done before. At Antibes they had a beautiful villa, 
and later a mansion at Milan. 

By this time Napoleon had routed the Austrians 
in Italy, and all France was ringing with his name. 
What was Pauline like in her maidenhood ? Arnault 
says: 

She was an extraordinary combination of perfect physical 
beauty and the strangest moral laxity. She was as pretty as 
you please, but utterly unreasonable. She had no more manners 
than a school-girl — talking incoherently, giggling at everything 
and nothing, and mimicking the most serious persons of rank. 

General de Ricard, who knew her then, tells in 
his monograph of the private theatricals in which 

255 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Pauline took part, and of the sport which they had 
behind the scenes. He says: 

The Bonaparte girls used literally to dress us. They pulled 
our ears and slapped us, but they always kissed and made up 
later. We used to stay in the girls' room all the time when they 
were dressing. 

Napoleon was anxious to see his sisters in some 
way settled. He proposed to General Marmont 
to marry Pauline. The girl w T as then only seventeen, 
and one might have had some faith in her character. 
But Marmont was shrewd and knew her far too 
well. The words in which he declined the honor 
are interesting: 

"I know that she is charming and exquisitely 
beautiful ; yet I have dreams of domestic happiness, 
of fidelity, and of virtue. Such dreams are seldom 
realized, I know. Still, in the hope of winning 
them—" 

And then he paused, coughed, and completed 
what he had to say in a sort of mumble, but his 
meaning was wholly clear. He would not accept 
the offer of Pauline in marriage, even though she 
was the sister of his mighty chief. 

Then Napoleon turned to General Leclerc, with 
whom Pauline had for some time flirted, as she had 
flirted with almost all the officers of Napoleon's 
staff. Leclerc was only twenty-six. He was rich 
and of good manners, but rather serious and in 
poor health. This was not precisely the sort of 
husband for Pauline, if we look at it in the conven- 
tional way; but it served Napoleon's purpose and 
did not in the least interfere with his sister's intrigues. 

Poor Leclerc, who really loved Pauline, grew thin, 
and graver still in manner. He was sent to Spain 

256 



THE STORY OF PAULINE BONAPARTE 

and Portugal, and finally was made commander-in- 
chief of the French expedition to Haiti, where the 
famous black rebel, Toussaint l'Ouverture, was 
heading an uprising of the negroes. 

Napoleon ordered Pauline to accompany her hus- 
band. Pauline flatly refused, although she made 
this an occasion for ordering "mountains of pretty 
clothes and pyramids of hats." But still she refused 
to go on board the flag-ship. Leclerc expostulated 
and pleaded, but the lovely witch laughed in his 
face and still persisted that she would never go. 

Word was brought to Napoleon. He made short 
work of her resistance. 

"Bring a litter," he said, with one of his steely 
glances. "Order six grenadiers to thrust her into 
it, and see that she goes on board forthwith." 

And so, screeching like an angry cat, she was 
carried on board, and set sail with her husband and 
one of her former lovers. She found Haiti and Santo 
Domingo more agreeable than she had supposed. 
She was there a sort of queen who could do as she 
pleased and have her orders implicitly obeyed. Her 
dissipation was something frightful. Fler folly and 
her vanity were beyond belief. 

But at the end of two years both she and her hus- 
band fell ill. He was stricken down by the yellow 
fever, which was decimating the French army. 
Pauline was suffering from the results of her life 
in a tropical climate. Leclerc died, the expedition 
was abandoned, and Pauline brought the general's 
body back to France. When he was buried she, 
still recovering from her fever, had him interred 
in a costly coffin and paid him the tribute of 
cutting off her beautiful hair and burying it with 
him, 

257 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

"What a touching tribute to her dead husband!" 
said some one to Napoleon. 

The emperor smiled cynically as he remarked: 

"H'm! Of course she knows that her hair is 
bound to fall out after her fever, and that it will 
come in longer and thicker for being cropped." 

Napoleon, in fact, though he loved Pauline better 
than his other sisters — or perhaps because he loved 
her better — was very strict with her. He obliged 
her to wear mourning, and to observe some of the 
proprieties; but it was hard to keep her within 
bounds. 

Presently it became noised about that Prince 
Camillo Borghese was exceedingly intimate with her. 
The prince was an excellent specimen of the fashion- 
able Italian. He was immensely rich. His palace 
at Rome was crammed with pictures, statues, and 
every sort of artistic treasure. He was the owner, 
moreover, of the famous Borghese jewels, the finest 
collection of diamonds in the world. 

Napoleon rather sternly insisted upon her marry- 
ing Borghese. Fortunately, the prince was very 
willing to be connected with Napoleon; while Paul- 
ine was delighted at the idea of having diamonds 
that would eclipse all the gems which Josephine 
possessed; for, like all of the Bonapartes, she de- 
tested her brother's wife. So she would be married 
and show her diamonds to Josephine. It was a bit 
of feminine malice which she could not resist. 

The marriage took place very quietly at Joseph 
Bonaparte's house, because of the absence of Na- 
poleon; but the newly made princess was invited 
to visit Josephine at the palace of Saint- Cloud. 
Here was to be the triumph of her life. She spent 
many days in planning a toilet that should be ab- 

258 



THE STORY OF PAULINE BONAPARTE 

solutely crushing to Josephine. Whatever she wore 
must be a background for the famous diamonds. 
Finally she decided on green velvet. 

When the day came Pauline stood before a mir- 
ror and gazed at herself with diamonds glistening 
in her hair, shimmering around her neck, and fas- 
tened so thickly on her green velvet gown as to re- 
mind one of a moving jewel-casket. She actually 
shed tears for joy. Then she entered her carriage 
and drove out to Saint-Cloud. 

But the Creole Josephine, though no longer young, 
was a woman of great subtlety as well as charm. 
Stories had been told to her of the green velvet, 
and therefore she had her drawing-room redecorated 
in the most uncompromising blue. It killed the 
green velvet completely. As for the diamonds, she 
met that manceuver by wearing not a single gem 
of any kind. Her dress was an Indian muslin with 
a broad hem of gold. 

Her exquisite simplicity, coupled with her dig- 
nity of bearing, made the Princess Pauline, with 
her shower of diamonds, and her green velvet dis- 
played against the blue, seem absolutely vulgar. 
Josephine was most generous in her admiration of 
the Borghese gems, and she kissed Pauline on part- 
ing. The victory was hers. 

There is another story of a defeat which Pauline 
met from another lady, one Mme. de Coutades. 
This was at a magnificent ball given to the most 
fashionable world of Paris. Pauline decided upon 
going, and intended, in her own phrase, to blot out 
every woman there. She kept the secret of her 
toilet absolutely, and she entered the ballroom 
at the psychological moment, when all the guests 
had just assembled. 

259 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

She appeared; and at sight of her the music 
stopped, silence fell upon the assemblage, and a sort 
of quiver went through every one. Her costume 
was of the finest muslin bordered with golden palm- 
leaves. Four bands, spotted like a leopard's skin, 
were wound about her head, while these in turn 
were supported by little clusters of golden grapes. 
She had copied the head-dress of a Bacchante in 
the Louvre. All over her person were cameos, and 
just beneath her breasts she wore a golden band 
held in place by an engraved gem. Her beautiful 
wrists, arms, and hands were bare. She had, in 
fact, blotted out her rivals. 

Nevertheless, Mme. de Coutades took her re- 
venge. She went up to Pauline, who was lying on 
a divan to set off her loveliness, and began gazing 
at the princess through a double eye-glass. Pauline 
felt flattered for a moment, and then became un- 
easy. The lady who was looking at her said to a 
companion, in a tone of compassion: 

"What a pity! She really would be lovely if it 
weren't for that!" 

"For what?" returned her escort. 

"Why, are you blind? It's so remarkable that 
you surely must see it." 

Pauline was beginning to lose her self -composure. 
She flushed and looked wildly about, wondering 
what was meant. Then she heard Mme. Coutades 
say: 

"Why, her ears. If I had such ears as those I 
would cut them off!" 

Pauline gave one great gasp and fainted dead 
away. As a matter of fact, her ears were not so bad. 
They were simply very fiat and colorless, forming 
a contrast with the rosy tints of her face. But from 

260 



THE STORY OF PAULINE BONAPARTE 

that moment no one could see anything but these 
ears; and thereafter the princess wore her hair low 
enough to cover them. 

This may be seen in the statue of her by Canova. 
It was considered a very daring thing for her to 
pose for him in the nude, for only a bit of drapery 
is thrown over her lower limbs. Yet it is true that 
this statue is absolutely classical in its conception 
and execution, and its interest is heightened by the 
fact that its model was what she afterward styled 
herself, with true Napoleonic pride — "a sister of 
Bonaparte." 

Pauline detested Josephine and was pleased when 
Napoleon divorced her; but she also disliked the 
Austrian archduchess, Marie Louise, who was Jose- 
phine's successor. On one occasion, at a great court 
function, she got behind the empress and ran out 
her tongue at her, in full view of all the nobles and 
distinguished persons present. Napoleon's eagle eye 
flashed upon Pauline and blazed like fire upon ice. 
She actually took to her heels, rushed out of the 
ball, and never visited the court again. 

It would require much time to tell of her other 
eccentricities, of her intrigues, which were innumer- 
able, of her quarrel with her husband, and of the 
minor breaches of decorum with which she startled 
Paris. One of these was her choice of a huge negro 
to bathe her every morning. When some one ven- 
tured to protest, she answered, naively: 

"What? Do you call that thing a manV 

And she compromised by compelling her black 
servitor to go out and marry some one at once, so 
that he might continue his ministrations with pro- 
priety ! 

To her Napoleon showed himself far more severe 

261 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

than with either Caroline or Elise- He gave her a 
marriage dowry of half a million francs when she 
became the Princess Borghese, but after that he 
was continually checking her extravagances. Yet 
in 1 8 14, when the downfall came and Napoleon was 
sent into exile at Elba, Pauline was the only one of 
all his relatives to visit him and spend her time with 
him. His wife fell away and went back to her Aus- 
trian relatives. Of all the Bonapartes only Pauline 
and Mme. Mere remained faithful to the emperor. 

Even then Napoleon refused to pay a bill of hers 
for sixty-two francs, while he allowed her only two 
hundred and forty francs for the maintenance of 
her horses, But she, with a generosity of which one 
would have thought her quite incapable, gave to 
her brother a great part of her fortune. When he 
escaped from Elba and began the campaign of 181 5 
she presented him with all the Borghese diamonds. 
In fact, he had them with him in his carriage at 
Waterloo, where they were captured by the English. 
Contrast this with the meanness and ingratitude 
of her sisters and her brothers, and one may well 
believe that she was sincerely proud of what it meant 
to be la sceur de Bonaparte. 

When he was sent to St. Helena she was ill in bed 
and could not accompany him. Nevertheless, she 
tried to sell all her trinkets, of which she was so 
proud, in order that she might give him help. When 
he died she received the news with bitter tears "on 
hearing all the particulars of that long agony." 

As for herself, she did not long survive. At the 
age of forty-four her last moments came. Knowing 
that she was to die, she sent for Prince Borghese 
and sought a reconciliation. But, after all, she died 
as she had lived — "the queen of trinkets" (la reine. 

262 



THE STORY OF PAULINE BONAPARTE 

des colifichets). She asked the servant to bring a 
mirror. She gazed into it with her dying eyes; and 
then, as she sank back, it was with a smile of deep 
content. 

"I am not afraid to die," she said. "I am still 
beautiful !" 



THE STORY OF THE EMPRESS 

MARIE LOUISE AND COUNT 

NEIPPERG 



THE STORY OF THE EMPRESS MARIE 
LOUISE AND COUNT NEIPPERG 

THERE is one famous woman whom history con- 
demns while at the same time it partly hides the 
facts which might mitigate the harshness of the judg- 
ment that is passed upon her. This woman is Marie 
Louise, Empress of France, consort of the great 
Napoleon, and archduchess of imperial Austria. 
When the most brilliant figure in all history, after 
his overthrow in 1814, was in tawdry exile on the 
petty island of Elba, the empress was already about 
to become a mother; and the father of her unborn 
child was not Napoleon, but another man. This is 
almost all that is usually remembered of her — that 
she was unfaithful to Napoleon, that she abandoned 
him in the hour of his defeat, and that she gave her- 
self with readiness to one inferior in rank, yet with 
whom she lived for years, and to whom she bore 
what a French writer has styled "a brood of bas- 
tards." 

Naturally enough, the Austrian and German his- 
torians do not have much to say of Marie Louise, 
because in her own disgrace she also brought dis- 
grace upon the proudest reigning family in Europe. 
Naturally, also, French writers, even those who are 
hostile to Napoleon, do not care to dwell upon the 
story; since France itself was humiliated when its 
greatest genius and most splendid soldier was de- 

267 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

ceived by his Austrian wife. Therefore there are 
still many who know little beyond the bare fact 
that the Empress Marie Louise threw away her 
pride as a princess, her reputation as a wife, and her 
honor as a woman. Her figure seems to crouch in 
a sort of murky byway, and those who pass over 
the highroad of history ignore it with averted eyes. 

Is there, however, nothing to be said that will at 
least extenuate what this woman did ? Was there not 
some reason, some deep-seated cause, why she should 
act so utterly at variance with the traditions of her 
house and the repute in which she had been held? 

In reality the story of Napoleon and Marie Louise 
and of the Count von Neipperg is one which, when 
you search it to the very core, leads you straight 
to a sex problem of a very curious nature. Nowhere 
else does it occur in the relations of the great per- 
sonages of history; but in literature Balzac, that 
master of psychology, has touched upon the theme 
in the early chapters of his famous novel called A 
Woman of Thirty. 

As to the Napoleonic story, let us first recall the 
facts of the case, giving them in such order that their 
full significance may be understood. 

In 1809 Napoleon, then at the plenitude of his 
power, shook himself free from the clinging clasp 
of Josephine and procured the annulment of his mar- 
riage to her. He really owed her nothing. Before 
he knew her she had been the mistress of another. 
In the first years of their life together she had been 
notoriously unfaithful to him. He had held to her 
from habit which was in part a superstition; but 
the remembrance of the wrong which she had done 
him made her faded charms at times almost repul- 
sive. And then Josephine had never borne him any 

268 




^K, 




MARIE LOUISE 



THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE 

children; and without a son to perpetuate his dy- 
nasty, the gigantic achievements which he had 
wrought seemed futile in his eyes, and likely to 
crumble into nothingness when he should die. 

No sooner had the marriage been annulled than 
his titanic ambition leaped, as it always did, to a 
tremendous pinnacle. He would wed. He would 
have children. But he would wed no petty prin- 
cess. This man who in his early youth had felt 
honored by a marriage with the almost declassee 
widow of a Creole planter now stretched out his 
hand that he might take to himself a woman not 
merely royal but imperial. 

At first he sought the sister of the Czar of Russia ; 
but Alexander entertained a profound distrust of 
the French emperor, and managed to evade the 
tentative demand. There was, however, a reigning 
family far more ancient than the Romanoffs — a 
family which had held the imperial dignity for nearly 
six centuries — the oldest and the noblest blood in 
Europe. This was the Austrian house of Hapsburg. 
Its head, the Emperor Francis, had thirteen chil- 
dren, of whom the eldest, the Archduchess Marie 
Louise, was then in her nineteenth year. 

Napoleon had resented the rebuff which the Czar 
had given him. He turned, therefore, the more 
eagerly to the other project. Yet there were many 
reasons why an Austrian marriage might be dan- 
gerous, or, at any rate, ill-omened. Only sixteen 
years before, an Austrian archduchess, Marie An- 
toinette, married to the ruler of France, had met 
her death upon the scaffold, hated and cursed by 
the French people, who had always blamed "the 
Austrian ' ' for the evil days which had ended in the 
flames of revolution. Again, the father of the girl 

269 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

to whom Napoleon's fancy turned had been the 
bitter enemy of the new regime in France. His 
troops had been beaten by the French in five wars 
and had been crushed at Austerlitz and at Wagram. 
Bonaparte had twice entered Vienna at the head 
of a conquering army, and thrice he had slept in 
the imperial palace at Schonbrunn, while Francis 
was fleeing through the dark, a beaten fugitive 
pursued by the swift squadrons of French cavalry. 

The feeling of Francis of Austria was not merely 
that of the vanquished toward the victor. It was 
a deep hatred almost religious in its fervor. He was 
the head and front of the old-time feudalism of 
birth and blood; Napoleon was the incarnation of 
the modern spirit which demolished thrones and set 
an iron heel upon crowned heads, giving the sacred 
titles of king and prince to soldiers who, even in 
palaces, still showed the swaggering brutality of the 
camp and the stable whence they sprang. Yet, 
just because an alliance with the Austrian house 
seemed in so many ways impossible, the thought 
of it inflamed the ardor of Napoleon all the more. 

"Impossible?" he had once said, contemptuously. 
"The word 'impossible' is not French." 

The Austrian alliance, unnatural though it seemed, 
was certainly quite possible. In the year 1809 Na- 
poleon had finished his fifth war with Austria by 
the terrific battle of Wagram, which brought the 
empire of the Hapsburgs to the very dust. The 
conqueror's rude hand had stripped from Francis 
province after province. He had even let fall hints 
that the Hapsburgs might be dethroned and that 
Austria might disappear from the map of Europe, 
to be divided between himself and the Russian Czar, 
who was still his ally. It was at this psychological 

270 



THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE 

moment that the Czar wounded Napoleon's pride 
by refusing to give the hand of his sister Anne. 

The subtle diplomats of Vienna immediately saw 
their chance. Prince Metternich, with the caution 
of one who enters the cage of a man-eating tiger, 
suggested that the Austrian archduchess would be 
a fitting bride for the French conqueror. The notion 
soothed the wounded vanity of Napoleon. From 
that moment events moved swiftly ; and before long 
it was understood that there was to be a new em- 
press in France, and that she was to be none other 
than the daughter of the man who had been Napo- 
leon's most persistent foe upon the Continent. The 
girl was to be given — sacrificed, if you like — to ap- 
pease an imperial adventurer. After such a mar- 
riage, Austria would be safe from spoliation. The 
reigning dynasty would remain firmly seated upon 
its historic throne. 

But how about the girl herself? She had always 
heard Napoleon spoken of as a sort of ogre — a man 
of low ancestry, a brutal and faithless enemy of 
her people. She knew that this bold, rough-spoken 
soldier less than a year before had added insult to 
the injury which he had inflicted on her father. In 
public proclamations he had called the Emperor 
Francis a coward and a liar. Up to the latter part 
of the year Napoleon was to her imagination a 
blood-stained, sordid, and yet all-powerful mon- 
ster, outside the pale of human liking and respect. 
What must have been her thoughts when her father 
first told her with averted face that she was to be- 
come the bride of such a being? 

Marie Louise had been brought up, as all German 
girls of rank were then brought up, in quiet sim- 
plicity and utter innocence. In person she was a 

271 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

tall blonde, with a wealth of light brown hair tum- 
bling about a face which might be called attractive 
because it was so youthful and so gentle, but in 
which only poets and courtiers could see beauty. 
Her complexion was rosy, with that peculiar tinge 
which means that in the course of time it will be- 
come red and mottled. Her blue eyes were clear 
and childish. Her figure was good, though already 
too full for a girl who was younger than her 
years. 

She had a large and generous mouth with full 
lips, the lower one being the true "Hapsburg lip," 
slightly pendulous — a feature which has remained 
for generation after generation as a sure sign of 
Hapsburg blood. One sees it in the present emperor 
of Austria, in the late Queen Regent of Spain, and 
in the present King of Spain, Alfonso. All the ar- 
tists who made miniatures or paintings of Marie 
Louise softened down this racial mark so that no 
likeness of her shows it as it really was. But take 
her all in all, she was a simple, childlike, German 
mddchen who knew nothing of the outside world 
except what she had heard from her discreet and 
watchful governess, and what had been told her of 
Napoleon by her uncles, the archdukes whom he 
had beaten down in battle. 

When she learned that she was to be given to the 
French emperor her girlish soul experienced a shud- 
der; but her father told her how vital was this 
union to her country and to him. With a sort of 
piteous dread she questioned the archdukes who 
had called Napoleon an ogre. 

"Oh, that was when Napoleon was the enemy 
of Austria," they replied. "Now he is our friend, 
and all is different." 

272 



THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE 

Marie Louise listened to all this, and, like the 
obedient German girl she was, yielded her own will. 

Events moved with a rush, for Napoleon was not 
the man to dally. Josephine had retired to her res- 
idence at Malmaison, and Paris was already astir 
with preparations for the new empress who was 
to assure the continuation of the Napoleonic glory 
by giving children to her husband. Napoleon had 
said to his ambassador with his usual bluntness : 

"This is the first and most important thing — 
she must have children." 

To the girl whom he was to marry he sent the 
following letter — an odd letter, combining the for- 
mality of a negotiator with the veiled ardor of a lover : 

My Cousin: 

The brilliant qualities which adorn your person have in- 
spired in me a desire to serve you and to pay you homage. In 
making my request to the emperor, your father, and praying 
him to intrust to me the happiness of your imperial highness, 
may I hope that you will understand the sentiments which lead 
me to this act? May I flatter myself that it will not be decided 
solely by the duty of parental obedience? However slightly 
the feelings of your imperial highness may incline to me, I wish 
to cultivate them with so great care, and to endeavor so con- 
stantly to please you in everything, that I flatter myself that 
some day I shall prove attractive to you. This is the end at 
which I desire to arrive, and for which I pray your highness 
to be favorable to me. 

Immediately everything was done to dazzle the 
imagination of the girl. She had dressed always in 
the simplicity of the school-room. Her only orna- 
ments had been a few colored stones which she 
sometimes wore as a necklace or a bracelet. Now 
the resources of all France were drawn upon. Pre- 
cious laces foamed about her. Cascades of diamonds 

273 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

flashed before her eyes. The costliest and most 
exquisite creations of the Parisian shops were spread 
around her to make up a trousseau fit for the prin- 
cess who was soon to become the bride of the man 
who had mastered continental Europe. 

The archives of Vienna were ransacked for musty 
documents which would show exactly what had been 
done for other Austrian princesses who had married 
rulers of France. Everything was duplicated down 
to the last detail. Ladies-in-waiting thronged about 
the young archduchess; and presently there came 
to her Queen Caroline of Naples, Napoleon's sister, 
of whom Napoleon himself once said: "She is the 
only man among my sisters, as Joseph is the only 
woman among my brothers." Caroline, by virtue 
of her rank as queen, could have free access to her 
husband's future bride. Also, there came presently 
Napoleon's famous marshal, Berthier, Prince of Neu- 
chatel, the chief of the Old Guard, who had just been 
created Prince of Wagram — a title which, very nat- 
urally, he did not use in Austria. He was to act as 
proxy for Napoleon in the preliminary marriage 
service at Vienna. 

All was excitement. Vienna had never been so 
gay. Money was lavished under the direction of 
Caroline and Berthier. There were illuminations 
and balls. The young girl found herself the center 
of the world's interest; and the excitement made 
her dizzy. She could not but be flattered, and yet 
there were many hours when her heart misgave her. 
More than once she was found in tears. Her father, 
an affectionate though narrow soul, spent an entire 
day with her consoling and reassuring her. One 
thought she always kept in mind — what she had 
said to Metternich at the very first: 

274 



THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE 

"I want only what my duty bids me want." 
At last came the official marriage, by proxy, in 
the presence of a splendid gathering. The various 
documents were signed, the dowry was arranged 
for. Gifts were scattered right and left. At the 
opera there were gala performances. Then Marie 
Louise bade her father a sad farewell. Almost suf- 
focated by sobs and with her eyes streaming with 
tears, she was led between two hedges of bayonets 
to her carriage, while cannon thundered and all the 
church-bells of Vienna rang a joyful peal. 

She set out for France accompanied by a long 
train of carriages filled with noblemen and noble- 
women, with ladies-in-waiting and scores of attend- 
ant menials. The young bride — the wife of a man 
whom she had never seen — was almost dead with 
excitement and fatigue. At a station in the out- 
skirts of Vienna she scribbled a few lines to her 
father, which are a commentary upon her state of 
mind : « 

I think of you always, and I always shall. God has given 
me power to endure this final shock, and in Him alone I have 
put all my trust. He will help me and give me courage, and I 
shall find support in doing my duty toward you, since it is all 
for you that I have sacrificed myself. 

There is something piteous in the little note. It 
is the note of a frightened girl going to encounter 
she knew not what, and clinging almost frantically 
to the one thought — that whatever might befall her, 
she was doing as her father wished. 

One need not recount the long and tedious journey 
of many days over wretched roads, in carriages that 
jolted and lurched and swayed. She was surrounded 
by unfamiliar faces and was compelled to meet at 

275 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

every town the chief men of the place, all of whom 
paid her honor, but stared at her with irrepressible 
curiosity. Day after day she went on and on. Each 
morning a courier on a foaming horse presented 
her with a great cluster of fresh flowers and a few 
lines scrawled by the unknown husband who was 
to meet her at her journey's end. 

There lay the point upon which her wandering 
thoughts were focused — the journey's end! The 
man whose strange, mysterious power had forced 
her from her school-room, had driven her through 
a nightmare of strange happenings, and who was 
waiting for her somewhere to take her to him- 
self, to master her as he had mastered generals and 
armies ! 

What was marriage? What did it mean? What 
experience still la}?" before her? These were the 
questions which she must have asked herself through- 
out that long, exhausting journey. When she 
thought of the past she was homesick. When she 
thought of the immediate future she was fearful 
with a shuddering fear. 

At last she reached the frontier of France, and her 
carriage passed into a sort of triple structure, the 
first pavilion of which was Austrian, while the 
middle pavilion was neutral, and the farther one was 
French. Here she was received by those who were 
afterward to surround her — the representatives of 
the Napoleonic court. They were not all plebeians 
and children of the Revolution, ex-stable-boys, ex- 
laundresses. By this time Napoleon had gathered 
around himself some of the noblest families of France, 
who had rallied to the empire. The assemblage was 
a brilliant one. There were Montmorencys and 
Beaumonts and Audenardes in abundance. But 

276 



THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE 

to Marie Louise, as to her Austrian attendants, they 
were all alike. They were French, they were stran- 
gers, and she shrank from them. 

Yet here her Austrians must leave her. All who 
had accompanied her thus far were now turned back. 
Napoleon had been insistent on this point. Even 
her governess, who had been with her since her 
childhood, was not allowed to cross the French 
frontier. So fixed was Napoleon's purpose to have 
nothing Austrian about her, that even her pet dog, 
to which she clung as a girl would cling, was taken 
from her. Thereafter she was surrounded only by 
French faces, by French guards, and was greeted 
only by salvos of French artillery. 

In the mean time what was Napoleon doing at 
Paris? Since the annulment of his marriage with 
Josephine he had gone into a sort of retirement. 
Matters of state, war, internal reforms, no longer 
interested him; but that restless brain could not 
sink into repose. Inflamed with the ardor of a new 
passion, that passion was all the greater because he 
had never yet set eyes upon its object. Marriage 
with an imperial princess nattered his ambition. 
The youth and utter innocence of the bride stirred 
his whole being with a thrill of novelty. The painted 
charms of Josephine, the mercenary favors of ac- 
tresses, the calculated ecstasies of the women of the 
court who gave themselves to him from vanity, had 
long since palled upon him. Therefore the im- 
patience with which he awaited the coming of Marie 
Louise became every day more tense, and even 
terrible. 

For a time he amused himself with planning down 
to the very last details the demonstrations that were 
to be given in her honor. He organized them as 

277. 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

minutely as he had ever organized a conquering 
army. He showed himself as wonderful in these 
petty things as he had in those great strategic com- 
binations which had baffled the ablest generals of 
Europe. But after all had been arranged — even 
to the illuminations, the cheering, the salutes, and 
the etiquette of the court — he fell into a fever of 
impatience which gave him sleepless nights and 
frantic days. He paced up and down the Tuileries, 
almost beside himself. He hurried off courier after 
courier with orders that the postilions should lash 
their horses to bring the hour of meeting nearer still. 
He scribbled love letters. He gazed continually on 
the diamond-studded portrait of the woman who 
was hurrying toward him. 

At last as the time approached he entered a 
swift traveling-carriage and hastened to Compeigne, 
about fifty miles from Paris, where it had been ar- 
ranged that he should meet his consort and whence 
he was to escort her to the capital, so that they 
might be married in the great gallery of the Louvre. 
At Compiegne the chancellerie had been set apart 
for Napoleon's convenience, while the chateau had 
been assigned to Marie Louise and her attendants. 
When Napoleon's carriage dashed into the place, 
drawn by horses that had traveled at a gallop, the 
emperor could not restrain himself. It was raining 
torrents and night was coming on, yet, none the 
less, he shouted for fresh horses and pushed on to 
Soissons, where the new empress was to stop and 
dine. When he reached there and she had not ar- 
rived, new relays of horses were demanded, and he 
hurried off once more into the dark. 

At the little village of Courcelles he met the courier 
who was riding in advance of the empress's cortege. 

278 



THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE 

" She will be here in a few moments!" cried Napo- 
leon; and he leaped from his carriage into the high- 
way. 

The rain descended harder than ever, and he took 
refuge in the arched doorway of the village church, 
his boots already bemired, his greatcoat reeking 
with the downpour from the heavens. As he crouched 
before the church he heard the sound of carriages; 
and before long there came toiling through the mud 
the one in which was seated the girl for whom he 
had so long been waiting. It was stopped at an 
order given by an officer. Within it, half fainting 
with fatigue and fear, Marie Louise sat in the dark, 
alone. 

Here, if ever, was the chance for Napoleon to win 
his bride. Could he have restrained himself, could 
he have shown the delicate consideration which was 
demanded of him, could he have remembered at 
least that he was an emperor and that the girl — 
timid and shuddering — was a princess, her future 
story might have been far different. But long ago 
he had ceased to think of anything except his own 
desires. 

He approached the carriage. An obsequious 
chamberlain drew aside the leathern covering and 
opened the door, exclaiming as he did so, "The 
emperor !' ' And then there leaped in the rain-soaked, 
mud-bespattered being whose excesses had always 
been as unbridled as his genius. The door was 
closed, the leathern curtain again drawn, and the 
horses set out at a gallop for Soissons. Within, the 
shrinking bride was at the mercy of pure animal 
passion, feeling upon her hot face a torrent of rough 
kisses, and yielding herself in terror to the caresses 
of wanton hands. 

279 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

At Soissons Napoleon allowed no halt, but the 
carriage plunged on, still in the rain, to Compeigne. 
There all the arrangements made with so much 
care were thrust aside. Though the actual marriage 
had not yet taken place, Napoleon claimed all the 
rights which afterward were given in the ceremonial 
at Paris. He took the girl to the chancellerie, and 
not to the chateau. In an anteroom dinner was 
served with haste to the imperial pair and Queen 
Caroline. Then the latter was dismissed with little 
ceremony, the lights were extinguished, and this 
daughter of a line of emperors was left to the tender 
mercies of one who always had about him something 
of the common soldier — the man who lives for loot 
and lust. ... At eleven the next morning she was 
unable to rise and was served in bed by the ladies 
of her household. 

These facts, repellant as they are, must be re- 
membered when we call to mind what happened in 
the next five years. The horror of that night could 
not be obliterated by splendid ceremonies, by studi- 
ous attention, or by all the pomp and gaiety of the 
court. Napoleon was then forty-one — practically 
the same age as his new wife's father, the Austrian 
emperor; Marie Louise was barely nineteen and 
younger than her years. Her master must have 
seemed to be the brutal ogre whom her uncles had 
described. 

Installed in the Tuileries, she taught herself com- 
pliance. On their marriage night Napoleon had 
asked her, briefly: "What did your parents tell 
you?" And she had answered, meekly: "To be 
yours altogether and to obey you in everything." 
But, though she gave compliance, and though her 
freshness seemed enchanting to Napoleon, there was 

280 



THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE 

something concealed within her thoughts to which 
he could not penetrate. He gaily said to a member 
of the court: 

"Marry a German, my dear fellow. They are 
the best women in the world — gentle, good, artless, 
and as fresh as roses." 

Yet, at the same time, Napoleon felt a deep 
anxiety lest in her very heart of hearts this German 
girl might either fear or hate him secretly. Some- 
what later Prince Metternich came from the Aus- 
trian court to Paris. 

"I give you leave," said Napoleon, "to have a 
private interview with the empress. Let her tell 
you what she likes, and I shall ask no questions. 
Even should I do so, I now forbid your answering 
me." 

Metternich was closeted with the empress for a 
long while. When he returned to the anteroom he 
found Napoleon fidgeting about, his eyes a pair of 
interrogation-points and evidently bristling all over 
with curiosity. 

"I am sure," he said, "that the empress told you 
that I was kind to her?" 

Metternich bowed and made no answer. 

"Well," said Napoleon, somewhat impatiently, 
"at least I am sure that she is happy. Tell me, 
did she not say so?" 

The Austrian diplomat remained unsmiling. 

"Your majesty himself has forbidden me to an- 
swer," he returned with another bow. 

We may fairly draw the inference that Marie 
Louise, though she adapted herself to her surround- 
ings, was never really happy. Napoleon became 
infatuated with her. He surrounded her with every 
possible mark of honor. He abandoned public busi- 
19 281 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

ness to walk or drive with her. But the memory 
of his own brutality must have vaguely haunted 
him throughout it all. He was jealous of her as he 
had never been jealous of the fickle Josephine. Con- 
stant has recorded that the greatest precautions were 
taken to prevent any person whatsoever, and espe- 
cially any man, from approaching the empress save 
in the presence of witnesses. 

Napoleon himself underwent a complete change 
of habits and demeanor. Where he had been rough 
and coarse he became attentive and refined. His 
shabby uniforms were all discarded, and he spent 
hours in trying on new costumes. He even attempted 
to learn to waltz, but this he gave up in despair. 
Whereas before he ate hastily and at irregular 
intervals, he now sat at dinner with unusual pa- 
tience, and the court took on a character which it 
had never had. Never before had he sacrificed 
either his public duty or his private pleasure for 
any woman. Even in the first ardor of his marriage 
with Josephine, when he used to pour out his heart 
to her in letters from Italian battle-fields, he did 
so only after he had made the disposition of his 
troops and had planned his movements for the fol- 
lowing day. Now, however, he was not merely de- 
voted, but uxorious; and in 1811, after the birth 
of the little King of Rome, he ceased to be the 
earlier Napoleon altogether. He had founded a 
dynasty. He was the head of a reigning house. 
The principles of the Revolution were forgotten, 
and he ruled, as he thought, like other monarchs, 
by the grace of God. 

As for Marie Louise, she played her part extremely 
well. Somewhat haughty and unapproachable to 
others, she nevertheless studied Napoleon's every 

282 



THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE 

wish. She seemed even to be loving; but one can 
scarcely doubt that her obedience sprang ultimately 
from fear and that her devotion was the devotion 
of a dog which has been beaten into subjection. 

Her vanity was flattered in many ways, and most 
of all by her appointment as regent of the empire 
during Napoleon's absence in the disastrous Russian 
campaign which began in 1812. It was in June of 
that year that the French emperor held court at 
Dresden, where he played, as was said, to "a par- 
terre of kings." This was the climax of his mag- 
nificence, for there were gathered all the sovereigns 
and princes who were his allies and who furnished 
the levies that swelled his Grand Army to six hun- 
dred thousand men. Here Marie Louise, like her 
husband, felt to the full the intoxication of supreme 
power. By a sinister coincidence it was here that 
she first met the other man, then unnoticed and 
little heeded, who was to cast upon her a fascina- 
tion which in the end proved irresistible. 

This man was Adam Albrecht, Count von Neip- 
perg. There is something mysterious about his 
early years, and something baleful about his silent 
warfare with Napoleon. As a very young soldier 
he had been an Austrian officer in 1793. His com- 
mand served in Belgium; and there, in a skirmish, 
he was overpowered by the French in superior num- 
bers, but resisted desperately. In the melee a saber 
slashed him across the right side of his face, and he 
was made prisoner. The wound deprived him of 
his right eye, so that for the rest of his life he was 
compelled to wear a black bandage to conceal the 
mutilation. 

From that moment he conceived an undying 
hatred of the French, serving against them in the 

283 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Tyrol and in Italy. He always claimed that had 
the Archduke Charles followed his advice, the Aus- 
trians would have forced Napoleon's army to capitu- 
late at Marengo, thus bringing early eclipse to the 
rising star of Bonaparte. However this may be, 
Napoleon's success enraged Neipperg and made his 
hatred almost the hatred of a fiend. 

Hitherto he had detested the French as a nation. 
Afterward he concentrated his malignity upon the 
person of Napoleon. In every way he tried to cross 
the path of that great soldier, and, though Neipperg 
was comparatively an unknown man, his indomi- 
table purpose and his continued intrigues at last 
attracted the notice of the emperor; for in 1808 
Napoleon wrote this significant sentence: 

The Count von Neipperg is openly known to have been the 
enemy of the French. 

Little did the great conqueror dream how deadly 
was the blow which this Austrian count was destined 
finally to deal him! 

Neipperg, though his title was not a high one, 
belonged to the old nobility of Austria. He had 
proved his bravery in war and as a duelist, and he 
was a diplomat as well as a soldier. Despite his 
mutilation, he was a handsome and accomplished 
courtier, a man of wide experience, and one who 
bore himself in a manner which suggested the spirit 
of romance. According to Masson, he was an Aus- 
trian Don Juan, and had won the hearts of many 
women. At thirty he had formed a connection with 
an Italian woman named Teresa Pola, whom he had 
carried away from her husband. She had borne 
him five children; and in 18 13 he had married her 



THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE 

in order that these children might be made legiti- 
mate. 

In his own sphere the activity of Neipperg was 
almost as remarkable as Napoleon's in a greater 
one. Apart from his exploits on the field of battle 
he had been attached to the Austrian embassy in 
Paris, and, strangely enough, had been decorated 
by Napoleon himself with the golden eagle of the 
Legion of Honor. Four months later we find him 
minister of Austria at the court of Sweden, where 
he helped to lay the train of intrigue which was to 
detach Bernadotte from Napoleon's cause. In 1812, 
as has just been said, he was with Marie Louise for 
a short time at Dresden, hovering about her, already 
forming schemes. Two years after this he over- 
threw Murat at Naples; and then hurried on post- 
haste to urge Prince Eugene to abandon Bona- 
parte. 

When the great struggle of 18 14 neared its close, 
and Napoleon, fighting with his back to the wall, 
was about to succumb to the united armies of Eu- 
rope, it was evident that the Austrian emperor 
would soon be able to separate his daughter from 
her husband. In fact, when Napoleon was sent to 
Elba, Marie Louise returned to Vienna. The cyn- 
ical Austrian diplomats resolved that she should 
never again meet her imperial husband. She was 
made Duchess of Parma in Italy, and set out for 
her new possessions; and the man with the black 
band across his sightless eye was chosen to be her 
escort and companion. 

When Neipperg received this commission he was 
with Teresa Pola at Milan. A strange smile flitted 
across his face; and presently he remarked, with 
cynical frankness: 

285 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

"Before six months I shall be her lover, and, 
later on her husband." 

He took up his post as chief escort of Marie Louise, 
and they journeyed slowly to Munich and Baden 
and Geneva, loitering on the way. Amid the great 
events which were shaking Europe this couple at- 
tracted slight attention. Napoleon, in Elba, longed 
for his wife and for his little son, the King of Rome. 
He sent countless messages and many couriers; but 
every message was intercepted, and no courier reached 
his destination. Meanwhile Marie Louise was lin- 
gering agreeably in Switzerland. She was happy 
to have escaped from the whirlpool of politics and 
war. Amid the romantic scenery through which 
she passed Neipperg was always by her side, at- 
tentive, devoted, trying in everything to please her. 
With him she passed delightful evenings. He sang 
to her in his rich barytone songs of love. He seemed 
romantic with a touch of mystery, a gallant soldier 
whose soul was also touched by sentiment. 

One would have said that Marie Louise, the daugh- 
ter of an imperial line, would have been proof against 
the fascinations of a person so far inferior to herself 
in rank, and who, beside the great emperor, was 
less than nothing. Even granting that she had 
never realty loved Napoleon, she might still have 
preferred to maintain her dignity, to share his fate, 
and to go down in history as the empress of the 
greatest man whom modern times have known. 

But Marie Louise was, after all, a woman, and 
she followed the guidance of her heart. To her 
Napoleon was still the man who had met her amid 
the rain-storm at Courcelles, and had from the 
first moment when he touched her violated all the 
instincts of a virgin. Later he had in his way tried 

286 



THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE 

to make amends; but the horror of that first night 
had never wholly left her memory. In truth, she 
was a simple and somewhat sentimental German 
girl. Napoleon had unrolled before her the drama 
of sensuality, but her heart had not been given to 
him. She had been his empress. In a sense it might 
be more true to say that she had been his mistress. 
But she had never been duly wooed and won and 
made his wife — an experience which is the right of 
every woman. And so this Neipperg, with his def- 
erential manners, his soothing voice, his magnetic 
touch, his ardor, and his devotion appeased that 
craving which the master of a hundred legions could 
not satisfy. 

In less than the six months of which Neipperg 
had spoken the psychological moment had arrived. 
In the dim twilight she listened to his words of love ; 
and then, drawn by that irresistible power which 
masters pride and woman's will, she sank into her 
lover's arms, yielding to his caresses, and knowing that 
she would be parted from him no more except by death. 

From that moment he was bound to her by the 
closest ties and lived with her at the petty court 
of Parma. His prediction came true to the very 
letter. Teresa Pola died, and then Napoleon died, 
and after this Marie Louise and Neipperg were 
united in a morganatic marriage. Three children 
were born to them before his death in 1829. 

It is interesting to note how much of an impres- 
sion was made upon her by the final exile of her im- 
perial husband to St. Helena. When the news was 
brought her she observed, casually: 

"Thanks. By the way, I should like to ride this 
morning to Markenstein. Do you think the weather 
is good enough to risk it?" 

287 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Napoleon, on his side, passed through agonies 
of doubt and longing when no letters came to him 
from Marie Louise. At last the truth was told him, 
and he received it with that high magnanimity, or 
it may be fatalism, which at times he was capable 
of showing. Never in all his days of exile did he say 
one word against her. Possibly in searching his 
own soul he found excuses such as we may find. 
In his will he spoke of her with great affection, and 
shortly before his death he said to his physician, 
Antommarchi : 

"I desire that you preserve my heart in spirits 
of wine, and that you carry it to Parma to my dear 
Marie Louise. Please tell her that I loved her ten- 
derly and that I have not ceased to love her." 

The story of Marie Louise is pathetic, almost 
tragic. There is the taint of grossness about it; 
and yet, after all, there is a lesson in it — the lesson 
that true love cannot be forced or summoned at 
command, that it is destroyed before its birth by 
outrage, and that it goes out only when evoked by 
sympathy, by tenderness, and by devotion. 



THE 
WIVES OF GENERAL HOUSTON 



THE WIVES OF GENERAL HOUSTON 

SIXTY or seventy years ago it was considered 
a great joke to chalk up on any man's house- 
door, or on his trunk at a coaching-station, the con- 
spicuous letters "G. T. T." The laugh went round, 
and every one who passed and saw the inscription 
chuckled and said: 

"They've got it on you, old hoss!" 

The three letters meant "gone to Texas"; and 
for any man to go to Texas in those days meant his 
moral, mental, and financial dilapidation. Either 
he had plunged into bankruptcy and wished to begin 
life over again in a new world, or the sheriff had a 
warrant for his arrest, or else he was one of those 
wandering, gipsy-like natures that instinctively seek 
any new field promising change and adventure. 

Texas, with its empty, far-reaching plains and its 
immunity from the officers of the law, was sup- 
posed to be sparsely populated by horse-thieves and 
fugitives from justice, with a sprinkling of adven- 
turous explorers and settlers who often had to de- 
fend themselves against wandering bands of Mexi- 
cans and outlaws. 

The very task of reaching Texas was a fearful one. 
Rivers that overran their banks, fever-stricken low- 
lands where gaunt faces peered out from moldering 
cabins, bottomless swamps where the mud oozed 
greasily and where the alligator could be seen slowly 

291 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

moving his repulsive form — all this stretched on for 
hundreds of miles to horrify and sicken the emi- 
grants who came toiling on foot or struggling upon 
emaciated horses. Other daring pioneers and broken 
refugees came by boat, running all manner of risks 
upon the swollen rivers, and not a few dying of star- 
vation or by the arrow of the Indian. Still others 
descended from the mountains of Tennessee and 
passed through a more open country and with a 
greater certainty of self -protection, because they 
were trained from childhood to wield the rifle and 
the long sheath -knife. 

It is odd enough to read, in the chronicles of those 
days, that amid all this suffering and squalor there 
was drawn a strict line between "the quality" and 
those who had no claim to be patricians. "The 
quality" was made up of such emigrants as came 
from the more civilized East, or who had slaves, 
or who dragged with them some rickety vehicle with 
carriage-horses — however gaunt the animals might 
be. All others — those who had no slaves or horses, 
and no traditions of the older States — were classed 
as "poor whites"; and they accepted their medi- 
ocrity without a murmur. 

Because he was born in Lexington, Virginia, and 
moved thence with his family to Tennessee, young 
Sam Houston — a truly eponymous American hero 
— was numbered with "the quality" when, after 
long wandering, he reached his boyhood home. His 
further claim to distinction as a boy came from the 
fact that he could read and write, and was even 
familiar with some of the classics in translation. 

When less than eighteen years of age he had 
reached a height of more than six feet. He was 
skilful with the rifle, a remarkable rough-and-tumble 

292 




GENERAL SAM HOUSTON AT THE BATTLE OF SAN JACINTO 

From a painting by the Texan artist S. Seymour, exhibited at the Paris Salon in 1898 



THE WIVES OF GENERAL HOUSTON 

fighter, and as quick with his long knife as any 
Indian. This made him a notable figure — the more 
so as he never abused his strength and courage. He 
was never known as anything but ''Sam," thereby 
recalling rare Ben Jonson and the good gray poet, 
Walt Whitman. In his own sphere he passed for 
a gentleman and a scholar, thanks to his Virginian 
birth and to the fact that he could repeat a great 
part of Pope's translation of the "Iliad." 

His learning led him to undertake the charge of 
a school, to which the children of the white settlers 
came for a few months in the year. Indeed, Houston 
was so much taken with the pursuit of scholarship 
that he made up his mind to learn Greek and Latin. 
Not unnaturally, this seemed mere foolishness to 
his mother, his six strapping brothers, and his three 
stalwart sisters, who cared little for study. So sharp 
was the difference between Sam and the rest of 
the family that he gave up his yearning after the 
classics and went to the other extreme by leaving 
home and plunging into the heart of the forest be- 
yond sight of any white man or woman or any 
thought of Hellas and ancient Rome. 

Here in the dimly lighted glades he was most 
happy. The Indians admired him for his woodcraft 
and for the skill with which he chased the wild game 
amid the forests. From his copy of the " Iliad" he 
would read to them the thoughts of the world's 
greatest poet. 

It is told that nearly forty years after, when Hous- 
ton had long led a different life and had made his 
home in Washington, a deputation of more than 
forty untamed Indians from Texas arrived there 
under the charge of several army officers. They 
chanced to meet Sam Houston, 

293 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

One and all ran to him, clasped him in their brawny arms, 
hugged him like bears to their naked breasts, and called him 
"father." Beneath the copper skin and thick paint the blood 
rushed, and their faces changed, and the lips of many a warrior 
trembled, although the Indian may not weep. 

In the gigantic form of Houston, on whose ample brow the 
beneficent love of a father was struggling with the sternness 
of the patriarch and warrior, we saw civilization awing the 
savage at his feet. We needed no interpreter to tell us that 
this impressive supremacy was gained in the forest. 

His family had been at first alarmed by his stay 
among the Indians; but when after a time he re- 
turned for a new outfit they saw that he was en- 
tirely safe and left him to wander among the red 
men. Later he came forth and resumed the pur- 
suits of civilization. He took up his studies; he 
learned the rudiments of law and entered upon its 
active practice. When barely thirty-six he had won 
every office that was open to him, ending with his 
election to the Governorship of Tennessee in 1827. 

Then came a strange episode which changed the 
whole course of his life. Until then the love of 
woman had never stirred his veins. His physical 
activities in the forests, his unique intimacy with 
Indian life, had kept him away from the social in- 
tercourse of towns and cities. In Nashville Houston 
came to know for the first time the fascination of 
feminine society. As a lawyer, a politician, and 
the holder of important offices he could not keep 
aloof from that gentler and more winning influence 
which had hitherto been unknown to him. 

One can imagine how strange this giant figure 
must have seemed when, as governor of the state, 
he entered the drawing-room of a social leader and 
tried to conduct himself with the ease of manner 
that is acquired only by long practice. But when 

294 



THE WIVES OF GENERAL HOUSTON 

a man has a very commanding figure and a natural 
grace he can readily acquire the external arts of 
society. So it was that Mrs. Trollope and her hus- 
band at this very time met President Jackson and 
exclaimed in amazement over his winning manners 
and his high-bred bearing. 

In 1828 Governor Houston was obliged to visit 
different portions of the state, stopping, as was the 
custom, to visit at the homes of "the quality," and 
to be introduced to wives and daughters as well as 
to their sportsman sons. On one of his official jour- 
neys he met Miss Eliza Allen, a daughter of one of 
the "influential families" of Sumner County, on 
the northern border of Tennessee. He found her 
responsive, charming, and greatly to be admired. 
She was a slender type of Southern beauty, well 
calculated to gain the affection of a lover, and es- 
pecially of one whose associations had been chiefly 
with the women of frontier communities not bred 
for indoor life nor for the amenities of the drawing- 
room. 

To meet a girl who had refined tastes and wide 
reading, and who was at the same time graceful 
and full of humor, must have come as a pleasant 
experience to Houston. He and Miss Allen saw 
much of each other, and few of their friends were 
surprised when the word went forth that they were 
engaged to be married. 

The marriage occurred in January, 1829. They 
were surrounded with friends of all classes and ranks, 
for Houston was the associate of Jackson and was 
immensely popular in his own state. He seemed to 
have before him a brilliant career. He had won a 
lovely bride to make a home for him; so that no 
man seemed to have more attractive prospects. 

295 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

What was there which at this time interposed in 
some malignant way to blight his future? 

It was a little more than a month after his mar- 
riage when he met a friend, and, taking him out into 
a strip of quiet woodland, said to him: 

"I have something to tell you, but you must not 
ask me anything about it. My wife and I will sep- 
arate before long. She will return to her father's, 
while I must make my way alone." 

Houston's friend seized him by the arm and gazed 
at him with horror. 

"Governor," said he, "you're going to ruin your 
whole life! What reason have you for treating this 
young lady in such a way? What has she done that 
you should leave her? Or what have you done that 
she should leave you? Every one will fall away 
from you. Tell me what you mean." 

Houston grimly replied: 

"I have no explanation to give you. My wife has 
none to give you. She will not complain of me, nor 
shall I complain of her. It is no one's business in 
the world except our own. Any interference will be 
impertinent, and I shall punish it with my own 
hand." 

"But," said his friend, "think of it! The people 
at large will not allow such action. They will be- 
lieve that you, who have been their idol, have de- 
scended to insult a woman. Your political career 
is ended. It will not be safe for you to walk the 
streets!" 

"What difference does it make to me?" said Hous- 
ton, gloomily. "What must be, must be. I tell 
you, as a friend, in advance, so that you may be 
prepared ; but the parting will take place very soon." 

Little was heard for another month or two, and 
296 



THE WIVES OF GENERAL HOUSTON 

then came the announcement that the Governor's 
wife had left him and had returned to her parents' 
home. The news flew like wildfire from town to 
hamlet, and was the theme of every tongue. Friends 
of Mrs. Houston swarmed about her and begged to 
know the meaning of the whole affair. Adherents 
of Houston, on the other hand, set afloat stories of 
his wife's coldness and of her peevishness. The state 
was divided into factions ; and what really concerned 
a very few was, as usual, made everybody's business. 

There were times when, if Houston had appeared 
near the dwelling of his former wife, he would have 
been lynched or riddled with bullets. Again, there 
were enemies and slanderers of his who, had they 
shown themselves in Nashville, would have been 
torn to pieces by men who hailed Houston as a hero 
and who believed that he could not possibly have 
done wrong. 

However his friends might rage, and however 
her people might wonder and seek to pry into the 
secret, no satisfaction was given on either side. The 
abandoned wife never uttered a word of explanation. 
Houston was equally reticent and self -controlled. 
In later years he sometimes drank deeply and was 
loose-tongued; but never, even in his cups, could he 
be persuaded to say a single word about the woman 
from whom he had parted. 

The whole thing is a mystery and cannot be 
solved by any evidence that we have. Almost 
every one who has written of it seems to have in- 
dulged in mere guesswork. One popular theory is 
that Miss Allen was in love with some one else; 
that her parents forced her into a brilliant marriage 
with Houston, which, however, she could not after- 
ward endure; and that Houston, learning the facts, 
20 2 97 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

left her because he knew that her heart was not 
really his. 

But the evidence is all against this. Had it been 
so she would surely have secured a divorce and 
would then have married the man whom she truly 
loved. As a matter of fact, although she did divorce 
Houston, it was only after several years, and the 
man whom she subsequently married was not ac- 
quainted with her at the time of the separation. 

Another theor}^ suggests that Houston was harsh 
and rough in his treatment of his wife, and offended 
her by his untaught manners and extreme self-con- 
ceit. But it is not likely that she objected to his 
manners, since she had become familiar with them 
before she gave him her hand ; and as to his conceit, 
there is no evidence that it was as yet unduly devel- 
oped. After his Texan campaign he sometimes 
showed a rather lofty idea of his own achievements ; 
but he does not seem to have done so in these early 
days. 

Some have ascribed the separation to his passion 
for drink; but here again we must discriminate. 
Later in life he became very fond of spirits and drank 
whisky with the Indians, but during his earlier 
years he was most abstemious. It scarcely seems 
possible that his wife left him because he was in- 
temperate. 

If one wishes to construct a reasonable hypothesis 
on a subject where the facts are either wanting or 
conflicting, it is not impossible to suggest a solution 
of this puzzle about Houston. Although his aban- 
doned wife never spoke of him and shut her lips 
tightly when she was questioned about him, Houston, 
on his part, was not so taciturn. He never con- 
sciously gave any direct clue to his matrimonial 

298 



THE WIVES OF GENERAL HOUSTON 

mystery; but he never forgot this girl who was his 
bride and whom he seems always to have loved. 
In what he said he never ceased to let a vein of self- 
reproach run through his words. 

I should choose this one paragraph as the most 
significant. It was written immediately after they 
had parted: 

Eliza stands acquitted by me. I have received her as a 
virtuous, chaste wife, and as such I pray God I may ever re- 
gard her, and I trust I ever shall. She was cold to me, and I 
thought she did not love me. 

And again he said to an old and valued friend at 
about the same time: 

"I can make no explanation. I exonerate the 
lady fully and do not justify myself." 

Miss Allen seems to have been a woman of the 
sensitive American type which was so common in 
the early and the middle part of the last century. 
Mrs. Trollope has described it for us with very little 
exaggeration. Dickens has drawn it with a touch 
of malice, and yet not without truth. Miss Marti- 
neau described it during her visit to this country, 
and her account quite coincides with those of her 
two contemporaries. 

Indeed, American women of that time uncon- 
sciously described themselves in a thousand dif- 
ferent ways. They were, after all, only a less strik- 
ing type of the sentimental Englishwomen who read 
L. E. L. and the earlier novels of Bulwer-Lytton. 
On both sides of the Atlantic there was a reign of 
sentiment and a prevalence of what was then called 
" delicacy.' * It was a die-away, unwholesome atti- 
tude toward life and was morbid to the last degree. 

In circles where these ideas prevailed, to eat a 

299 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

hearty dinner was considered unwomanly. To talk 
of anything except some gilded "annual," or "book 
of beauty," or the gossip of the neighborhood was 
wholly to be condemned. The typical girl of such 
a community was thin and slender and given to a 
mild starvation, though she might eat quantities 
of jam and pickles and saleratus biscuit. She had 
the strangest views of life and an almost unnatural 
shrinking from any usual converse with men. 

Houston, on his side, was a thoroughly natural 
and healthful man, having lived an outdoor life, 
hunting and camping in the forest and displaying 
the unaffected manner of the pioneer. Having lived 
the solitary life of the woods, it was a strange thing 
for him to meet a girl who had been bred in an en- 
tirely different way, who had learned a thousand 
little reservations and dainty graces, and whose very 
breath was coyness and reserve. Their mating was 
the mating of the man of the forest with the woman 
of the sheltered life. 

Houston assumed everything; his bride shrank 
from everything. There was a mutual shock amount- 
ing almost to repulsion. She, on her side, probably 
thought she had found in him only the brute which 
lurks in man. He, on the other, repelled and checked, 
at once grasped the belief that his wife cared nothing 
for him because she would not meet his ardors with 
like ardors of her own. It is the mistake that has 
been made by thousands of men and women at the 
beginning of their married lives — the mistake on 
one side of too great sensitiveness, and on the other 
side of too great warmth of passion. 

This episode may seem trivial, and yet it is one 
that explains many things in human life. So far 
as concerns Houston it has a direct bearing on the 

300 



THE WIVES OF GENERAL HOUSTON 

history of our country. A proud man, he could not 
endure the slights and gossip of his associates. He 
resigned the governorship of Tennessee, and left by 
night, in such a way as to surround his departure 
with mystery. 

There had come over him the old longing for In- 
dian life; and when he was next visible he was in 
the land of the Cherokees, who had long before 
adopted him as a son. He was clad in buckskin 
and armed with knife and rifle, and served under the 
old chief Oolooteka. He was a gallant defender of 
the Indians. 

When he found how some of the Indian agents 
had abused his adopted brothers he went to Wash- 
ington to protest, still wearing his frontier garb. 
One William Stansberry, a Congressman from Ohio, 
insulted Houston, who leaped upon him like a pan- 
ther, dragged him about the Hall of Representa- 
tives, and beat him within an inch of his life. He 
was arrested, imprisoned, and fined; but his old 
friend, President Jackson, remitted his imprison- 
ment and gruffly advised him not to pay the fine 
— a thing, in fact, which he never did. 

Returning to his Indians, he made his way to a 
new field which promised much adventure. This 
was Texas, of whose condition in those early days 
something has already been said. Houston found 
a rough American settlement, composed of scattered 
villages extending along the disputed frontier of 
Mexico. Already, in the true Anglo-Saxon spirit, 
the settlers had formed a rudimentary state, and as 
they increased and multiplied they framed a simple 
code of laws. 

Then, quite naturally, there came a clash between 
them and the Mexicans. The Texans, headed by 

301 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Moses Austin, had set up a republic and asked for 
admission to the United States. Mexico regarded 
them as rebels and despised them because they made 
no military display and had no very accurate mili- 
tary drill. They were dressed in buckskin and ragged 
clothing; but their knives were very bright and 
their rifles carried surely. Furthermore, they laughed 
at odds, and if only a dozen of them were gathered 
together they would "take on" almost any number 
of Mexican regulars. 

In February, 1836, the acute and able Mexican, 
Santa Anna, led across the Rio Grande a force of 
several thousand Mexicans showily uniformed and 
completely armed. Every one remembers how they 
fell upon the little garrison at the Alamo, now within 
the city limits of San Antonio, but then an isolated 
mission building surrounded b}^ a thick adobe wall. 
The Americans numbered less than three hun- 
dred men, while Santa Anna had about four thou- 
sand. 

A sharp attack was made with these overwhelm- 
ing odds. The Americans drove the assailants back 
with their rifle fire, but they had nothing to oppose 
to the Mexican artillery. The contest continued 
for several days, and finally the Mexicans breached 
the wall and fell upon the garrison, who were now 
reduced by more than half. There was an hour of 
blood, and every one of the Alamo's defenders, in- 
cluding the wounded, was put to death. The only 
survivors of the slaughter were two negro slaves, 
a woman and a baby girl. 

When the news of this bloody affair reached 
Houston he leaped forth to the combat like a lion. 
He was made commander-in-chief of the scanty 
Texan forces. He managed to rally about seven 

302 



THE WIVES OF GENERAL HOUSTON 

hundred men, and set out against Santa Anna with 
little in the way of equipment, and with nothing 
but the flame of frenzy to stimulate his followers. 
By march and countermarch the hostile forces came 
face to face near the shore of San Jacinto Bay, not 
far from the present city of Houston. Slowly they 
moved upon each other, when Houston halted, and 
his sharpshooters raked the Mexican battle -line 
with terrible effect. Then Houston uttered the cry: 

"Remember the Alamo!" 

With deadly swiftness he led his men in a charge 
upon Santa Anna's lines. The Mexicans were scat- 
tered as by a mighty wind, their commander was 
taken prisoner, and Mexico was forced to give its 
recognition to Texas as a free republic, of which 
General Houston became the first president. 

This was the climax of Houston's life, but the 
end of it leaves us with something still to say. Long 
after his marriage with Miss Allen he took an Indian 
girl to wife and lived with her quite happily. She 
was a very beautiful woman, a half-breed, with the 
English name of Tyania Rodgers. Very little, how- 
ever, is known of her life with Houston. Later still 
— in 1840— he married a lady from Marion, Alabama, 
named Margaret Moffette Lea. He was then in his 
forty-seventh year, while she was only twenty-one; 
but again, as with his Indian wife, he knew nothing 
but domestic tranquillity. These later experiences 
go far to prove the truth of what has already been 
given as the probable cause of his first mysterious 
failure to make a woman happy. 

After Texas entered the Union, in 1845, Houston 
was elected to the United States Senate, in which 
he served for thirteen years. In 1852, 1856, and 
i860, as a Southerner who opposed any movement 

303 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

looking toward secession, he was regarded as a pos- 
sible presidential candidate; but his career was now 
almost over, and in 1863, while the Civil War — 
which he had striven to prevent — was at its height, 
he died. 



LOLA MONTEZ AND KING 

LUDWIG OF BAVARIA 



LOLA MONTEZ AND KING LUDWIG OF 
BAVARIA 

LOLA MONTEZ! The name suggests dark eyes 
-* and abundant hair, lithe limbs and a sinuous 
body, with twining hands and great eyes that gleam 
with a sort of ebon splendor. One thinks of Spanish 
beauty as one hears the name; and in truth Lola 
Montez justified the mental picture. 

She was not altogether Spanish, yet the other ele- 
ments that entered into her mercurial nature height- 
ened and vivified her Castilian traits. Her mother 
was a Spaniard — partly Moorish, however. Her 
father was an Irishman. There you have it — the 
dreamy romance of Spain, the exotic touch of the 
Orient, and the daring, unreasoning vivacity of the 
Celt. 

This woman during the forty-three years of her 
life had adventures innumerable, was widely known 
in Europe and America, and actually lost one king 
his throne. Her maiden name was Marie Dolores 
Eliza Rosanna Gilbert. Her father was a British 
officer, the son of an Irish knight, Sir Edward Gil- 
bert. Her mother had been a danseuse named Lola 
Oliver. "Lola" is a diminutive of Dolores, and as 
"Lola" she became known to the world. 

She lived at one time or another in nearly all the 
countries of Europe, and likewise in India, America, 
and Australia. It would be impossible to set down 

307 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

here all the sensations that she achieved. Let us 
select the climax of her career and show how she 
overturned a kingdom, passing but lightly over her 
early and her later years. 

She was born in Limerick in 1818, but her father's 
parents cast off their son and his young wife, the 
Spanish dancer. They went to India, and in 1825 
the father died, leaving his young widow without a 
rupee; but she was quickly married again, this time 
to an officer of importance. 

The former danseuse became a very conventional 
person, a fit match for her highly conventional hus- 
band; but the small daughter did not take kind- 
ly to the proprieties of life. The Hindu servants 
taught her more things than she should have known; 
and at one time her stepfather found her perform- 
ing the danse du ventre. It was the Moorish strain 
inherited from her mother. 

She was sent back to Europe, however, and had 
a sort of education in Scotland and England, and 
finally in Paris, where she was detected in an incip- 
ient flirtation with her music-master. There were 
other persons hanging about her from her fifteenth 
year, at which time her stepfather, in India, had ar- 
ranged a marriage between her and a rich but un- 
interesting old judge. One of her numerous admir- 
ers told her this. 

"What on earth am I to do?" asked little Lola, 
most naively. 

"Why, marry me," said the artful adviser, who 
was Captain Thomas James; and so the very next 
day they fled to Dublin and were speedily married 
at Meath. 

Lola's husband was violently in love with her, but, 
unfortunately, others were no less susceptible to her 

308 



LOLA MONTEZ AND KING LUDWIG 

charms. She was presented at the viceregal court, 
and everybody there became her victim. Even the 
viceroy, Lord Normanby, was greatly taken with 
her. This nobleman's position was such that Cap- 
tain James could not object to his attentions, though 
they made the husband angry to a degree. The 
viceroy would draw her into alcoves and engage her 
in flattering conversation, while poor James could 
only gnaw his nails and let green-eyed jealousy 
prey upon his heart. His only recourse was to take 
her into the country, where she speedily became 
bored; and boredom is the death of love. 

Later she went with Captain James to India. 
She endured a campaign in Afghanistan, in which 
she thoroughly enjoyed herself because of the at- 
tentions of the officers. On her return to London 
in 1842, one Captain Lennox was a fellow passenger; 
and their association resulted in an action for di- 
vorce, by which she was freed from her husband, 
and yet by a technicality was not able to marry 
Lennox, whose family in any case would probably 
have prevented the wedding. 

Mrs. Mayne says, in writing on this point: 

Even Lola never quite succeeded in being allowed to com- 
mit bigamy unmolested, though in later years she did commit 
it and took refuge in Spain to escape punishment. 

The same writer has given a vivid picture of what 
happened soon after the divorce. Lola tried to for- 
get her past and to create a new and brighter future. 
Here is the narrative: 

Her Majesty's Theater was crowded on the night of June 
10, 1843. A new Spanish dancer was announced — "Dona Lola 
Montez." It was her debut, and Lumley, the manager, had been 

309 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

puffing her beforehand, as he alone knew how. To Lord Rane- 
lagh, the leader of the dilettante group of fashionable young 
men, he had whispered, mysteriously: 

"I have a surprise in store. You shall see." 

So Ranelagh and a party of his friends filled the omnibus' 
boxes, those tribunes at the side of the stage whence success 
or failure was pronounced. Things had been done with Lum- 
ley's consummate art; the packed house was murmurous with 
excitement. She was a raving beauty, said report — and then, 
those intoxicating Spanish dances! Taglioni, Cerito, Fanny 
Elssler, all were to be eclipsed. 

Ranelagh's glasses were steadily leveled on the stage from 
the moment her entrance was imminent. She came on. There 
was a murmur of admiration — but Ranelagh made no sign. 
And then she began to dance. A sense of disappointment, 
perhaps? But she was very lovely, very graceful, "like a flower 
swept by the wind, she floated round the stage" — not a dancer, 
but, by George, a beauty! And still Ranelagh made no sign. 

Yet, no. What low, sibilant sound is that? And then what 
confused, angry words from the tribunal? He turns to his 
friends, his eyes ablaze with anger, opera-glass in hand. And 
now again the terrible "Hiss-s-s!" taken up by the other box, 
and the words repeated loudly and more angrily even than be- 
fore — the historic words which sealed Lola's doom at Her 
Majesty's Theater: "Why, it's Betty James 1" 

She was, indeed, Betty James, and London would 
not accept her as Lola Montez. She left England and 
appeared upon the Continent as a beautiful virago, 
making a sensation — as the French would say, a 
succds de scandale — by boxing the ears of people 
who offended her, and even on one occasion horse- 
whipping a policeman who was in attendance on 
the King of Prussia. In Paris she tried once more 
to be a dancer, but Paris would not have her. She 
betook herself to Dresden and Warsaw, where she 
sought to attract attention by her eccentricities, 
making mouths at the spectators, flinging her gar- 
ters in their faces, and one time removing her skirts 

310 



LOLA MONTEZ AND KING LUDWIG 

and still more necessary garments, whereupon her 
manager broke off his engagement with her. 

An English writer who heard a great deal of her 
and who saw her often about this time writes that 
there was nothing wonderful about her except "her 
beauty and her impudence.' ' She had no talent 
r r any of the graces which make women attractive ; 
yut many men of talent raved about her. The clever 
young journalist, Dujarrier, who assisted Emile 
Girardin, was her lover in Paris. He was killed in 
a duel and left Lola twenty thousand francs and some 
securities, so that she no longer had to sing in the 
streets as she did in Warsaw — from which city, in 
fact, she had been expelled. 

She now betook herself to Munich, the capital of 
Bavaria. That country was then governed by Lud- 
wig L, a king as eccentric as Lola herself. He was 
a curious compound of kindliness, ideality, and 
peculiar ways. For instance, he would never use 
a carriage even on state occasions. He prowled 
around the streets, knocking off the hats of those 
whom he chanced to meet. Like his unfortunate 
descendant, Ludwig II., he wrote poetry, and he 
had a picture-gallery devoted to portraits of the 
beautiful women whom he had met. 

He dressed like an English fox-hunter, with a most 
extraordinary hat, and what was odd and peculiar 
in others pleased him because he was odd and pecu- 
liar himself. Therefore when Lola made her first 
appearance at the Court Theater he was enchanted 
with her. He summoned her at once to the palace, 
and within five days he presented her to the court, 
saying as he did so: 

"Meine Herren, I present you to my best friend.' ' 

In less than a month this curious monarch had 
3ii 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

given Lola the title of Countess of Landsfeld. A 
handsome house was built for her, and a pension 
of twenty thousand florins was granted her. This 
was in 1847. With the people of Munich she was 
unpopular. They did not mind the eccentricities 
of the king, since these amused them and did the 
country no perceptible harm; but they were enraged 
by this beautiful woman, who had no softness such 
as a woman ought to have. Her swearing, her readi- 
ness to box the ears of every one whom she disliked, 
the huge bulldog which accompanied her every- 
where — all these things were beyond endurance. 

She was discourteous to the queen, besides med- 
dling with the politics of the kingdom. Either of 
these things would have been sufficient to make her 
hated. Together, they were more than the city of 
Munich could endure. Finally the countess tried 
to establish a new corps in the university. This 
was the last touch of all. A student who ventured 
to wear her colors was beaten and arrested. Lola 
came to his aid with all her wonted boldness; but 
the city was in commotion. 

Daggers were drawn; Lola was hustled and in- 
sulted. The foolish king rushed out to protect her; 
and on his arm she was led in safety to the palace. 
As she entered the gates she turned and fired a pistol 
into the mob. No one was hurt, but a great rage 
took possession of the people. The king issued a 
decree closing the university for a year. By this 
time, however, Munich was in possession of a mob, 
and the Bavarians demanded that she should leave 
the country. 

Ludwig faced the chamber of peers, where the de- 
mand of the populace was placed before him. 

"I would rather lose my crown!" he replied. 

312 



LOLA MONTEZ AND KING LUDWIG 

The lords of Bavaria regarded him with grim 
silence; and in their eyes he read the determination 
of his people. On the following day a royal decree 
revoked Lola's rights as a subject of Bavaria, and 
still another decree ordered her to be expelled. The 
mob yelled with joy and burned her house. Poor 
Ludwig watched the tumult by the light of the leap- 
ing flames. 

He was still in love with her and tried to keep her 
in the kingdom; but the result was that Ludwig 
himself was forced to abdicate. He had given his 
throne for the light love of this beautiful but half- 
crazy woman. She would have no more to do with 
him; and as for him, he had to give place to his son 
Maximilian. Ludwig had lost a kingdom merely 
because this strange, outrageous creature had piqued 
him and made him think that she was unique among 
women. 

The rest of her career was adventurous. In Eng- 
land she contracted a bigamous marriage with a 
youthful officer, and within two weeks they fled to 
Spain for safety from the law. Her husband was 
drowned, and she made still another marriage. She 
visited Australia, and at Melbourne she had a fight 
with a strapping woman, who clawed her face until 
Lola fell fainting to the ground. It is a squalid 
record of horsewhippings, face-scratchings — in short, 
a rowdy life. 

Her end was like that of Becky Sharp. In 
America she delivered lectures which were written 
for her by a clergyman and which dealt with the 
art of beauty. She had a temporary success; but 
soon she became quite poor, and took to piety, 
professing to be a sort of piteous, penitent Magda- 
len. In this rdle she made effective use of her beau- 
21 313 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

tiful dark hair, her pallor, and her wonderful eyes. 
But the violence of her disposition had wrecked 
her physically; and she died of paralysis in Astoria, 
on Long Island, in 1861. Upon her grave in Green- 
wood Cemetery, Brooklyn, there is a tablet to her 
memory, bearing the inscription: ''Mrs. Eliza Gil- 
bert, born 1818, died 1861." 

What can one say of a woman such as this? She 
had no morals, and her manners were outrageous. 
The love she felt was the love of a she- wolf . Four- 
teen biographies of her have been written, besides 
her own autobiography, which was called The 
Story of a Penitent, and which tells less about her 
than any of the other books. Her beauty was un- 
deniable. Her courage was the blended courage 
of the Celt, the Spaniard, and the Moor. Yet all 
that one can say of her was said by the elder Dumas 
when he declared that she was born to be the evil 
genius of every one who cared for her. Her greatest 
fame comes from the fact that in less than three 
years she overturned a kingdom and lost a king 
his throne. 



LEON GAMBETTA AND LEONIE 
LEON 



LfiON GAMBETTA AND LfiONIE LfiON 

THE present French Republic has endured for 
over forty years. Within that time it has pro- 
duced just one man of extraordinary power and 
parts. This was Leon Gambetta. Other men as re- 
markable as he were conspicuous in French political 
life during the first few years of the republic; but 
they belonged to an earlier generation, and — like 
Louis Adolphe Thiers, for example — they had won 
their fame under the Second Empire or before. But 
Gambetta leaped into prominence only when the 
empire fell, crashing down in ruin and disaster. 

It is still too early to form an accurate estimate 
of him as a statesman. His friends praise him ex- 
travagantly. His enemies still revile him bitterly. 
The period of his political career lasted for little 
more than a decade, yet in that time it may be said 
that he lived almost a life of fifty years. Only a short 
time ago did the French government cause his body 
to be placed within the great Pantheon, which con- 
tains memorials of the heroes and heroines of France. 
But, though we may not fairly judge of his political 
motives, we can readily reconstruct a picture of him 
as a man, and in doing so recall his one romance, 
which many will remember after they have forgotten 
his oratorical triumphs and his statecraft. 

Leon Gambetta was the true type of the southern 
Frenchman — what his countrymen call a meridional. 
The Frenchman of the south is different from the 

317 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Frenchman of the north, for the latter has in his 
veins a touch of the viking blood, so that he is very 
apt to be fair-haired and blue-eyed, temperate in 
speech, and self -controlled. He is different, again, 
from the Frenchman of central France, who is almost 
purely Celtic. The meridional has a marked vein 
of the Italian in him, derived from the conquerors 
of ancient Gaul. He is impulsive, ardent, fiery in 
speech, hot-tempered, and vivacious to an extraor- 
dinary degree. 

Gambetta, who was born at Cahors, was French 
only on his mother's side, since his father was of 
Italian birth. It is said also that somewhere in 
his ancestry there was a touch of the Oriental. At 
any rate, he was one of the most southern of the 
sons of southern France, and he showed the preco- 
cious maturity which belongs to a certain type of 
Italian. At twenty-one he had already been ad- 
mitted to the French bar, and had drifted to Paris, 
where his audacity, his pushing nature, and his red- 
hot unrestraint of speech gave him a certain notoriety 
from the very first. 

It was toward the end of the reign of Napoleon III. 
that Gambetta saw his opportunity. The emperor, 
weakened by disease and yielding to a sort of feeble 
idealism, gave to France a greater freedom of speech 
than it had enjoyed while he was more virile. This 
relaxation of control merely gave to his opponents 
more courage to attack him and his empire. The 
gutter journals of the boulevards began to spatter 
the imperial regime with slime. Demagogues ha- 
rangued the crowds in words which would once have 
led to their imprisonment. In the National Assem- 
bly the opposition did all within its power to ham- 
per and defeat the policy of the government. 

318 



. GAMBETTA AND LEONIE LEON 

In short, republicanism began to rise in an omi- 
nous and threatening way; and at the head of re- 
publicanism in Paris stood forth Gambetta, with 
his impassioned eloquence, his stinging phrases, and 
his youthful boldness. He became the idol of that 
part of Paris known as Belleville, where artisans 
and laborers united with the rabble of the streets 
in hating the empire and in crying out for a republic. 

Gambetta was precisely the man to voice the 
feelings of these people. Whatever polish he ac- 
quired in after years was then quite lacking; and 
the crudity of his manners actually helped him with 
the men whom he harangued. A recent book by 
M. Francis Laur, an ardent admirer of Gambetta, 
gives a picture of the man which may be nearly true 
of him in his later life, but which is certainly too 
flattering when applied to Gambetta in 1868, at the 
age of thirty. 

Let us consider what Gambetta was really like 
at the time when he first saw the woman who from 
then until the day of his death was to be the sharer 
of all his secrets, who kept him from marrying, and 
who, as he himself declared, was the inspiration of 
his life. 

Alphonse Daudet depended very largely upon 
living people as literary models. Thus in his Kings 
in Exile he undoubtedly gives us in King Chris- 
tian of Illyria an etching from life of the despicable 
Ferdinand, King of Naples — King Bomba; while 
in the Queen of Illyria he has shown us the pathetic 
figure of the Empress Carlotta of Mexico. Again, 
in The Nabob, the Due de Morny, Napoleon's 
illegitimate half-brother, appears as the Due de 
Mora, imposing, magnificent, and dissolute. If we 
wish to catch some suggestions of Gambetta as he 

3*9 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

appeared to so great a psychologist as Daudet we 
may turn to the novel Numa Roumestan. Here the 
hero is — in part, at least — Gambetta, the typical 
meridional whom Daudet well understood because 
he was himself a native of the south of France. 

How do we see Gambetta as he was at thirty? 
A man of powerful frame and of intense vitality, 
with thick, clustering hair, which he shook as a lion 
shakes its mane ; olive-skinned, with eyes that darted 
fire, a resonant, sonorous voice, and a personal mag- 
netism which was instantly felt by all who met him 
or who heard him speak. His manners were not 
refined. He was fond of oil and garlic. His gestures 
were often more frantic than impressive, so that 
his enemies called him "the furious fool." He had 
a trick of spitting while he spoke. He was by no 
means the sort of man whose habits had been formed 
in drawing-rooms or among people of good breed- 
ing. Yet his oratory was, of its kind, superb. Daudet 
gives i us words which may describe at once the man 
Gambetta and his mode of speaking: 

A morality as loose as one's belt. Streams of talk, talk as 
facile as his impulse and his promises — yes, and as their men- 
dacity. What breasts smitten by the hand; what low, emo- 
tional tones, hoarse but captivating; what easy tears, what 
calls upon patriotism and lofty sentiments! 

The sun, transformed into heat and movement, furious and 
irresistible, glides into the veins of the meridionaux. Though 
it may intoxicate them and turn their heads, it never affects 
their intelligence; but, on the contrary, it makes it stronger 
deeper, and more lucid. 

In 1869 Gambetta was elected by the Red Re- 
publicans to the Corps Legislatif. From the very 
first his vehemence and fire gained him a ready 
hearing when he spoke. The chamber itself was ar- 

320 



GAMBETTA AND LEONIE LEON 

ranged like a great theater, the members occupying 
the floor and the public the galleries. Each orator 
in addressing the house mounted a sort of rostrum 
and from it faced the whole assemblage, not notic- 
ing, as with us, the presiding officer at all. The very 
nature of this arrangement stimulated parliamentary 
speaking into eloquence and flamboyant oratory. 

After Gambetta had spoken a few times he no- 
ticed in a certain part of the gallery a tall, graceful 
woman, dressed in some neutral color and wearing 
long black gloves, which accentuated the beauty of 
her hands and arms. No one in the whole assembly 
paid such close attention to the orator as did this 
woman, whom he had never seen before and who 
appeared to be entirely alone. 

When it came to him to speak on another day he 
saw sitting in the same place the same stately and 
yet lithe and sinuous figure. This was repeated 
again and again, until at last whenever he came 
to a peculiarly fervid burst of oratory he turned to 
this woman's face and saw it lighted up by the same 
enthusiasm which was stirring him. 

Finally, in the early part of 1870, there came a 
day when Gambetta surpassed himself in eloquence. 
His theme was the grandeur of republican govern- 
ment. Never in his life had he spoken so boldly as 
then, or with such fervor. The ministers of the 
emperor shrank back in dismay as this big-voiced, 
strong-limbed man hurled forth sentence after sen- 
tence like successive peals of irresistible artillery. 
Daudet must have had this great oration in mind 
when he wrote in Numa Roumestan: 

Numa launched forth into a magnificent diatribe, almost a 
prophetic one. He drew a picture of the court as a set of circus- 
riders, women performers, grooms, and jockeys, riding hard 

3 2 ? 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

under a threatening sky, pursuing the stag to its death, to the 
accompaniment of lightning-flashes and distant claps of thun- 
der; and then — in the midst of all this revelry — the deluge, 
the hunting-horns drowned, all this monarchical harlequinade 
ending in a morass of blood and mire! 

As Gambetta rolled forth his sentences, superb 
in their rhetoric and all ablaze with that sort of in- 
tense feeling which masters an orator in the moment 
of his triumph, the face of the lady in the gallery 
responded to him with wonderful appreciation. She 
was no longer calm, unmoved, and almost severe. 
She flushed, and her eyes as they met his seemed 
to sparkle with living fire. When he finished and 
descended from the rostrum amid thunders of ap- 
plause he looked at her, and their eyes cried out as 
significantly as if the two had spoken to each other. 

Then Gambetta did what a person of finer breed- 
ing would not have done. He hastily scribbled a 
note, sealed it, and called to his side one of the offi- 
cial pages. In the presence of the great assemblage, 
where he was for the moment the center of attention, 
he pointed to the lady in the gallery and ordered 
the page to take the note to her. 

One may excuse this only on the ground that he 
was completely carried away by his emotion, so that 
to him there was no one present save this enigmati- 
cally fascinating women and himself. But the lady 
on her side was wiser; or perhaps a slight delay 
gave her time to recover her discretion. When Gam- 
betta's note was brought to her she took it quietly 
and tore it into little pieces without reading it ; and 
then, rising, she glided through the crowd and dis- 
appeared. 

Gambetta in his excitement had acted as if she 
were a mere adventuress. With perfect dignity she 

322 



GAMBETTA AND LEONIE LEON 

had shown him that she was a woman who retained 
her self-respect. 

Immediately upon the heels of this curious inci- 
dent came the outbreak of the war with Germany. 
It is unnecessary to recall, save in the briefest man- 
ner, what happened then. The empire was shat- 
tered at Sedan. The republic was proclaimed in 
Paris. The French capital was besieged by a vast 
German army. Gambetta was made minister of 
the interior, and remained for a while in Paris even 
after it had been blockaded. But his fiery spirit 
chafed under such conditions. He longed to go 
forth into the south of France and arouse his coun- 
trymen with a cry to arms against the invaders. 

Escaping in a balloon, he safely reached the city 
of Tours; and there he established what was prac- 
tically a dictatorship. He flung himself with tre- 
mendous energy into the task of organizing armies, 
of equipping them, and of directing their movements 
for the relief of Paris. He did, in fact, accomplish 
wonders. He kept the spirit of the nation still alive. 
Three new armies were launched against the Ger- 
mans. Gambetta was everywhere and took part 
in everything that was done. His inexperience in 
military affairs, coupled with his impatience of ad- 
vice, led him to make serious mistakes. Neverthe- 
less, one of his armies practically defeated the Ger- 
mans at Orleans; and could he have had his own 
way, even the fall of Paris would not have ended 
the war. 

"Never," said Gambetta, "shall I consent to peace 
so long as France still has two hundred thousand 
men under arms and more than a thousand cannon 
to direct against the enemy!" 

But he was overruled by other and less fiery 

323 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

statesmen. Peace was made, and Gambetta retired 
for a moment into private life. If he had not suc- 
ceeded in expelling the German hosts he had, at 
any rate, made Bismarck hate and dread him, and 
he had saved the honor of France. 

It was while the National Assembly at Versailles 
was debating the terms of peace with Germany that 
Gambetta once more delivered a noble and patri- 
otic speech. As he concluded he felt a strange 
magnetic attraction; and, sweeping the audience 
with a glance, he saw before him, not very far away, 
the same woman with the long black gloves, having 
about her still an air of mystery, but again meeting 
his eyes with her own, suffused with feeling. 

Gambetta hurried to an anteroom and hastily 
scribbled the following note: 

At last I see you once more. Is it really you? 

The scrawl was taken to her by a discreet official, 
and this time she received the letter, pressed it to 
her heart, and then slipped it into the bodice of her 
gown. But this time, as before, she left the building 
without making a reply. 

It was an encouragement, yet it gave no opening 
to Gambetta — for she returned to the National As- 
sembly no more. But now his heart was full of 
hope, for he was convinced with a very deep con- 
viction that somewhere, soon, and in some way 
he would meet this woman, who had become to him 
one of the intense realities of his life. He did not 
know her name. They had never exchanged a word. 
Yet he was sure that time would bring them close 
together. 

His intuition was unerring. What we call chance 
3 2 4 



GAMBETTA AND LEONIE LEON 

often seems to know what it is doing. Within a year 
after the occurrence that has just been narrated 
an old friend of Gambetta' s met with an accident 
which confined him to his house. The statesman 
strolled to his friend's residence. The accident was 
a trifling one, and the mistress of the house was 
holding a sort of informal reception, answering ques- 
tions that were asked her by the numerous acquaint- 
ances who called. 

As Gambetta was speaking, of a sudden he saw 
before him, at the extremity of the room, the lady 
of his dreams, the sphinx of his waking hours, the 
woman who four years earlier had torn up the note 
which he addressed to her, but who more recently 
had kept his written words. Both of them were 
deeply agitated, yet both of them carried off the 
situation without betraying themselves to others. 
Gambetta hastened to her side, and they exchanged 
a few casual commonplaces. But now, close to- 
gether, eye and voice spoke of what was in their 
hearts. 

Presently they separated for a moment, and the 
unknown lady took her leave. Gambetta followed 
closely. In the street he turned to her and said in 
pleading tones: 

"Why did you destroy my letter? You knew I 
loved you, and yet all these years you have kept 
away from me in silence." 

Then the girl — for she was little more than a girl 
—hesitated for a moment. As he looked upon her 
face he saw that her eyes were full of tears. At last 
she spoke with a voice that quivered with emotion: 

"You cannot love me, for I am unworthy of you. 
Do not urge me. Do not make promises. Let us 
say goocj-by. At least I must first tell you of my 

3 2 5 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

story, for I am one of those women whom no one 
ever marries." 

Gambetta brushed aside her pleadings. He begged 
that he might see her soon. Little by little she con- 
sented; but she would not see him at her house. 
She knew that his enemies were many and that 
everything he did would be used against him. In 
the end she agreed to meet him in the park at Ver- 
sailles, near the Petit Trianon, at eight o'clock in 
the morning. 

When she had made this promise he left her. His 
heart was light. Already a new inspiration had 
come to him, and he felt that with this woman by 
his side he could accomplish anything. 

At the appointed hour, in the silence of the park 
and amid the sunshine of the beautiful morning, the 
two met once again. Gambetta seized her hands 
with eagerness and cried out in an exultant tone: 

"At last! At last! At last!" 

But the woman's eyes were heavy with sorrow, 
and upon her face there was a settled melancholy. 
She trembled at his touch and almost shrank from 
him. Here was seen the impetuosity of the meridi- 
onal. He had first spoken to this woman only two 
days before. He knew nothing of her station, of 
her surroundings, of her character. He did not 
even know her name. Yet one thing he knew abso- 
lutely — that she was made for him and that he 
must have her for his own. He spoke at once of 
marriage; but at this she drew away from him 
still farther and more resolutely. 

"No," she said. "I told you that you must not 
speak to me until you have heard my story. You 
must hear me." 

He led her to a great stone bench near by; and, 
326 



GAMBETTA AND LEONIE LEON 

passing his arm about her waist, he drew her head 
down to his shoulder as he said: 

"Well, tell me. I will listen," 

Then this girl of twenty-four, with perfect frank- 
ness, because she was absolutely loyal, told him 
why she felt that they must never see each other 
any more — much less marry and be happy. She 
was the daughter of a colonel in the French army. 
The sudden death of her father had left her penni- 
less and alone. Coming to Paris at the age of eigh- 
teen, she had given lessons in the household of a 
high officer of the empire. This man had at last 
observed her, had been attracted by her beauty, 
and had seduced her. 

Later she had secured the means of living modestly, 
realizing more deeply each month how dreadful had 
been her fate and how she had been cut off from 
the lot of other girls. She felt that her life must 
be a perpetual penance for what had befallen her 
through her ignorance and inexperience. She told 
Gambetta that her name was Leonie Leon. As is 
the custom of Frenchwomen who live alone, she 
styled herself madame. It is doubtful whether the 
name by which she passed was that which had been 
given to her at baptism; but, if so, her true name 
has never been disclosed. 

When she had told the whole of her sad story to 
Gambetta he made nothing of it. She said to him 
again : 

"You cannot love me. I should only dim your 
fame. You can have nothing in common with a 
dishonored, ruined girl. That is what I came here 
to explain to you. Let us part, and let us for all 
time forget each other." 

But Gambetta took no heed of what she said. 

327 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Now that he had found her, he would not consent 
to lose her. He seized her slender hands and cov- 
ered them with kisses. Again he urged that she 
should marry him. 

Her answer was a curious one. She was a devoted 
Catholic and would not regard any marriage as 
valid save a religious marriage. On the other hand, 
Gambetta, though not absolutely irreligious, was 
leading the opposition to the Catholic party in 
France. The Church to him was not so much a 
religious body as a political one, and to it he was 
unalterably opposed. Personally, he would have 
no objections to being married by a priest; but 
as a leader of the anti-clerical party he felt that he 
must not recognize the Church's claim in any way. 
A religious marriage would destroy his influence 
with his followers and might even imperil the future 
of the republic. 

They pleaded long and earnestly both then and 
afterward. He urged a civil marriage, but she de- 
clared that only a marriage according to the rites 
of the Church could ever purify her past and give 
her back her self-respect. In this she was abso- 
lutely stubborn, yet she did not urge upon Gam- 
betta that he should destroy his influence by marry- 
ing her in church. 

Through all this interplay of argument and plead- 
ing and emotion the two grew every moment more 
hopelessly in love. Then the woman, with a woman's 
curious subtlety and indirectness, reached a some- 
what singular conclusion. She would hear nothing 
of a civil marriage, because a civil marriage was no 
marriage in the eyes of Pope and prelate. On the 
other hand, she did not wish Gambetta to mar his 
political career bv going through a religious cere- 

323 



GAMBETTA AND LfiONIE LfiON 

mony. She had heard from a priest that the Church 
recognized two forms of betrothal. The usual one 
looked to a marriage in the future and gave no mar- 
riage privileges until after the formal ceremony. 
But there was another kind of betrothal known to 
the theologians as sponsalia de prcesente. Accord- 
ing to this, if there were an actual betrothal, the 
pair might have the privileges and rights of marriage 
immediately, if only they sincerely meant to be 
married in the future. 

The eager mind of Leonie Leon caught at this bit 
of ecclesiastical law and used it with great ingenuity. 

"Let us," she said, "be formally betrothed by 
the interchange of a ring, and let us promise each 
other to marry in the future. After such a betrothal 
as this we shall be the same as married ; for we shall 
be acting according to the laws of the Church." 

Strange reasoning, but very human! 

Gambetta gladly gave his promise. A betrothal 
ring was purchased ; and then, her conscience being 
appeased, she gave herself completely to her lover. 
Gambetta was sincere. He said to her: 

"If the time should ever come when I shall lose 
my political station, when I am beaten in the strug- 
gle, when I am deserted and alone, will you not then 
marry me when I ask you?" 

And Leonie, with her arms about his neck, promised 
that she would. Yet neither of them specified what 
sort of marriage this should be, nor did it seem at 
the moment as if the question could arise. 

For Gambetta was very powerful. He led his 
party to success in the election of 1877. Again and 
again his triumphant oratory mastered the National 
Assembly of France. In 1879 he was chosen to be 
president of the Chamber of Deputies. He towered 
22 329 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

far above the president of the republic — Jules Grevy, 
that hard-headed, close-fisted old peasant — and his 
star had reached its zenith. 

Throughout these years of public life Gambetta 
accomplished political miracles. No one could match 
him as an orator, and few could be compared with 
him as a brilliant, adroit, and successful political 
leader. 

All this time he and Leonie Leon maintained 
their intimacy, though it was carefully concealed 
save from a very few. She lived in a plain but 
pretty house on the Avenue Perrichont in the quiet 
quarter of Auteuil ; but Gambetta never came there. 
Where and when they met was a secret guarded 
very carefully by the few who were his close asso- 
ciates. But meet they did continually, and their 
affection grew stronger every year. Leonie thrilled 
at the victories of the man she loved ; and he found 
joy and intervals of peace in the hours that he spent 
with her. 

Gambetta's need of rest and peace was very great, 
for he worked at the highest tension, like an engine 
which is using every pound of steam. Old Bismarck, 
whose spies kept him well informed of everything 
that was happening in Paris, and who had no liking 
for Gambetta, since the latter always spoke of him 
as "the Ogre," once said to a Frenchman named 
Cheberry : 

"He is the only one among you who thinks of 
revenge, and who is any sort of a menace to Ger- 
many. But, fortunately, he won't last much longer. 
I am not speaking thoughtlessly. I know from 
secret reports what sort of a life your great man 
leads, and I know his habits. Why, his life is a life 
of continual overwork. He rests neither night nor 

33o 



GAMBETTA AND LfiONIE LfiON 

day. All politicians who have led the same life have 
died young. To be able to serve one's country for 
a long time a statesman must marry an ugly woman, 
have children like the rest of the world, and a country 
place or a house to one's self like any common peas- 
ant, where he can go and rest and nurse himself at 
times." 

The Iron Chancellor chuckled as he said this, 
and he was right. And yet Gambetta's end came 
not so much through overwork as by an accident. 

It may be that the ambition of Mme. Leon stimu- 
lated him beyond his powers. However this may 
be, early in 1882, when he was defeated in Parlia- 
ment on a question which he considered vital, he 
immediately resigned and turned his back on public 
life. His fickle friends soon fell away from him. 
His enemies jeered and hooted when his name was 
mentioned. 

He had reached the time which with a sort of 
prophetic instinct he had foreseen nearly ten years 
before. So he turned to the woman who had been 
always faithful and loving to him; and he turned 
to her with a feeling of infinite peace. 

"You promised me," he said, "that if ever I was 
defeated and alone you would marry me. The time 
is now." 

Then this man, who had exercised the powers of 
a dictator, who had levied armies and shaken gov- 
ernments, and through whose hands there had passed 
thousands of millions of francs, sought for a country 
home. He found for sale a small estate which had 
once belonged to Balzac, and which is known as 
Les Jardies. It was in wretched repair; yet the 
small sum which it cost Gambetta — twelve thousand 
francs — was practically all that he possessed. Worn 

33i 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

and weary as he was, it seemed to him a haven of 
delightful peace; for here he might live in the quiet 
country with the still beautiful woman who was 
soon to become his wife. 

It is not known what form of marriage they at 
last agreed upon. She may have consented to a 
civil ceremony; or he, being now out of public life, 
may have felt that he could be married by the 
Church. The day for their wedding had been set, 
and Gambetta was already at Les Jardies. But 
there came a rumor, which was at first but a rumor, 
that he had been shot. Still further tidings bore 
the news that he was dying. Paris, fond as it was 
of scandals, immediately spread the tale that he 
had been shot by a jealous woman. 

The truth is quite the contrary. Gambetta, in 
arranging his effects in his new home, took it upon 
himself to clean a pair of dueling-pistols; for every 
French politician of importance must fight duels, 
and Gambetta had already done so. Unfortunately, 
one cartridge remained unnoticed in the pistol which 
Gambetta cleaned. As he held the pistol-barrel 
against the soft part of his hand the cartridge ex- 
ploded, and the ball passed through the base of the 
thumb with a rending, spluttering noise. 

The wound was not in itself a serious one, but now 
the prophecy of Bismarck was fulfilled. Gambetta 
had exhausted his vitality ; a fever set in, and before 
long he died of internal ulceration. 

This was the end of a great career and of a great 
romance of love. Leonie Leon was half distraught 
at the death of the lover who was so soon to be her 
husband. She wandered for hours in the forest 
until she reached a convent, where she was received. 
Afterward she came to Paris and hid herself away 

332 



GAMBETTA AND LEONIE LfiON 

in a garret of the slums. All the light of her life had 
gone out. She wished that she had died with him 
whose glory had been her life. Friends of Gambetta, 
however, discovered her and cared for her until her 
death, long afterward, in 1906. 

She lived upon the memories of the past, of the 
swift love that had come at first sight, but which 
had lasted unbrokenly; which had given her the 
pride of conquest, and which had brought her lover 
both happiness and inspiration and a refining touch 
which had smoothed away his roughness and made 
him fit to stand in palaces with dignity and dis- 
tinction. 

As for him, he left a few lines which have been 
carefully preserved, and which sum up his thought 
of her. They read: 

To the light of my soul; to the star of my life — L'eonie Leon. 
For ever! For ever! 



LADY BLESSINGTON AND 
COUNT D'ORSAY 



LADY BLESSINGTON AND COUNT 
D'ORSAY 

OFTEN there has arisen some man who, either 
by his natural gifts or by his impudence or 
by the combination of both, has made himself a 
recognized leader in the English fashionable world. 
One of the first of these men was Richard Nash, 
usually known as "Beau Nash," who flourished in 
the eighteenth century. Nash was a man of doubt- 
ful origin; nor was he attractive in his looks, for he 
was a huge, clumsy creature with features that were 
both irregular and harsh. Nevertheless, for nearly 
fifty years Beau Nash was an arbiter of fashion. 
Goldsmith, who wrote his life, declared that his 
supremacy was due to his pleasing manners, "his 
assiduity, flattery, fine clothes, and as much wit 
as the ladies had whom he addressed." He con- 
verted the town of Bath from a rude little hamlet 
into an English Newport, of which he was the social 
autocrat. He actually drew up a set of written 
rules which some of the best-born and best-bred 
people follow slavishly. 

Even better known to us is George Bryan Brum- 
mel, commonly called "Beau Brummel," who by 
his friendship with George IV. — then Prince Re- 
gent — was an oracle at court on everything that 
related to dress and etiquette and the proper mode 
of living. His memory has been kept alive most 
of all by Richard Mansfield's famous imperson- 

337 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

ation of him. The play is based upon the actual 
facts; for after Brummel had lost the royal favor 
he died an insane pauper in the French town of 
Caen. He, too, had a distinguished biographer, 
since Bulwer Lytton's novel Pelham is really the 
narrative of Brummel' s curious career. 

Long after Brummel, Lord Ranelagh led the 
gilded youth of London, and it was at this time 
that the notorious Lola Montez made her first 
appearance in the British capital. 

These three men — Nash, Brummel, and Ranelagh 
— had the advantage of being Englishmen, and, 
therefore, of not incurring the old-time English sus- 
picion of foreigners. A much higher type of social 
arbiter was a Frenchman who for twenty years 
during the early part of Queen Victoria's reign 
gave law to the great world of fashion, besides ex- 
ercising a definite influence upon English art and 
literature. 

This was Count Albert Guillaume d'Orsay, the 
son of one of Napoleon's generals, and descended 
by a morganatic marriage from the King of Wurt- 
temburg. The old general, his father, was a man of 
high courage, impressive appearance, and keen in- 
tellect, all of which qualities he transmitted to his 
son. The young Count d'Orsay, when he came of 
age, found the Napoleonic era ended and France 
governed by Louis XVIII. The king gave Count 
d'Orsay a commission in the army in a regiment 
stationed at Valence in the southeastern part of 
France. He had already visited England and 
learned the English language, and he had made 
some distinguished friends there, among whom were 
Lord Byron and Thomas Moore. 

On his return to France he began his garrison life 
338 



LADY BLESSINGTON AND D'ORSAY 

at Valence, where he showed some of the finer quali- 
ties of his character. It is not merely that he was 
handsome and accomplished and that he had the 
gift of winning the affections of those about him. 
Unlike Nash and Brummel, he was a gentleman in 
every sense, and his courtesy was of the highest kind. 
At the balls given by his regiment, although he was 
more courted than any other officer, he always sought 
out the plainest girls and showed them the most 
flattering attentions. No "wallflowers" were left 
neglected when D'Orsay was present. 

There is another story told of him which is no 
less characteristic. He was billeted in the house of 
a rather humble family of the town. It consisted 
of a middle-aged woman, her daughter, and a son. 
This son was of the most brutish type. Huge as 
an ox, he was surly, offensive, and cruel; and both 
his mother and sister shuddered in his presence. 
One day when he had been drinking, after hurling 
at them every vile epithet conceivable, he took to 
beating them; for with his giant strength they were 
mere infants in his hands. 

At the first sound of this frightful scene D'Orsay 
rushed rapidly down to the lower room and con- 
fronted the outrageous bully. 

"Stop at once!" cried D'Orsay. 

The giant turned, frenzied with rage at the inter- 
ruption. 

"Aha! You red-legged jackanapes! I will do the 
same to you." 

But in an instant he was stretched upon his back, 
bleeding from his mouth and nose. He leaped to 
his feet, and once again was struck nearly senseless 
by D'Orsay, who was an accomplished boxer. Again 
and again this was repeated, until the ruffian changed 

339 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

from bull to sheep and bleated out a request for 
mercy. D'Orsay gave him a contemptuous kick 
and then said: 

"If you ever threaten to repeat this conduct I 
will beat you until you are senseless!" 

It is strange how completely human beings are 
in the hands of fate. Here was a young French 
officer quartered in a provincial town in the valley 
of the Rhdne. Who would have supposed that he 
was destined to become not only a Londoner, but 
a favorite at the British court, a model of fashion, 
a dictator of etiquette, widely known for his accom- 
plishments, the patron of literary men and of dis- 
tinguished artists? But all these things were to 
come to pass by a mere accident of fortune. 

During his first visit to London, which has al- 
ready been mentioned, Count d'Orsay was invited 
once or twice to receptions given by the Earl and 
Countess of Blessington, where he was well received, 
though this was only an incident of his English 
sojourn. Before the story proceeds any further 
it is necessary to give an account of the Earl and of 
Lady Blessington, since both of their careers had 
been, to say the least, unusual. 

Lord Blessington was an Irish peer for whom an 
ancient title had been revived. He was remotely 
descended from the Stuarts of Scotland, and there- 
fore had royal blood to boast of. He had been well 
educated, and in many ways was a man of pleasing 
manner. On the other hand, he had early inherited 
a very large property which yielded him an income 
of about thirty thousand pounds a year. He had 
estates in Ireland, and he owned nearly the whole 
of a fashionable street in London, with the buildings 
erected on it. 

340 



LADY BLESSINGTON AND D'ORSAY 

This fortune and the absence of any one who 
could control him had made him wilful and extrav- 
agant and had wrought in him a curious love of 
personal display. Even as a child he would clamor 
to be dressed in the most gorgeous uniforms; and 
when he got possession of his property his love of 
display became almost a monomania. He built a 
theater as an adjunct to his country house in Ire- 
land and imported players from London and else- 
where to act in it. He loved to mingle with the 
mummers, to try on their various costumes, and to 
parade up and down, now as an oriental prince and 
now as a Roman emperor. 

In London he hung about the green-rooms, and 
was a well-known figure wherever actors or actresses 
were collected. Such was his love of the stage that 
he sought to marry into the profession and set his 
heart on a girl named Mary Campbell Browne, who 
was very beautiful to look at, but who was not con- 
spicuous either for her mind or for her morals. When 
Lord Blessington proposed marriage to her she was 
obliged to tell him that she already had one husband 
still alive, but she was perfectly willing to live with 
him and dispense with the marriage ceremony. So 
for several years she did live with him and bore him 
two children. 

It speaks well for the earl that when the incon- 
venient husband died a marriage at once took place 
and Mrs. Browne became a countess. Then, after 
other children had been born, the lady died, leaving 
the earl a widower at about the age of forty. The 
only legitimate son born of this marriage followed 
his mother to the grave; and so for the third time 
the earldom of Blessington seemed likely to become 
extinct. 

34* 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

The death of his wife, however, gave the earl a 
special opportunity to display his extravagant tastes. 
He spent more than four thousand pounds on the 
funeral ceremonies, importing from France a huge 
black velvet catafalque which had shortly before 
been used at the public funeral of Napoleon's mar- 
shal, Duroc, while the house blazed with enor- 
mous wax tapers and glittered with cloth of 
gold. 

Lord Blessington soon plunged again into the 
busy life of London. Having now no heir, there 
was no restraint on his expenditures, and he bor- 
rowed large sums of money in order to buy addi- 
tional estates and houses and to experience the ex- 
quisite joy of spending lavishly. At this time he 
had his lands in Ireland, a town house in St. James's 
Square, another in Seymour Place, and still another 
which was afterward to become famous as Gore 
House, in Kensington. 

Some years before he had met in Ireland a lady 
called Mrs. Maurice Farmer; and it happened that 
she now came to London. The earlier story of her 
still young life must here be told, because her name 
afterward became famous, and because the tale il- 
lustrates wonderfully well the raw, crude, lawless 
period of the Regency, when England was fighting 
her long war with Napoleon, when the Prince Regent 
was imitating all the vices of the old French kings, 
when prize-fighting, deep drinking, dueling, and 
dicing were practised without restraint in all the 
large cities and towns of the United Kingdom. It 
was, as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle has said, "an age 
of folly and of heroism"; for, while it produced 
some of the greatest blackguards known to history, 
it produced also such men as Wellington and Nel- 

342 



LADY BLESSINGTON AND D'ORSAY 

son, the two Pitts, Sheridan, Byron, Shelley, and Sir 
Walter Scott. 

Mrs. Maurice Farmer was the daughter of a small 
Irish landowner named Robert Power — himself the 
incarnation of all the vices of the time. There was 
little law in Ireland, not even that which comes from 
public opinion; and Robert Power rode hard to 
hounds, gambled recklessly, and assembled in his 
house all sorts of reprobates, with whom he held 
frightful orgies that lasted from sunset until dawn. 
His wife and his young daughters viewed him with 
terror, and the life they led was a perpetual night- 
mare because of the bestial carousings in which their 
father engaged, wasting his money and mortgaging 
his estates until the end of his wild career was in 
plain sight. 

There happened to be stationed at Clonmel a 
regiment of infantry in which there served a captain 
named Maurice St. Leger Farmer. He was a man 
of some means, but eccentric to a degree. His tem- 
per was so utterly uncontrolled that even his fellow 
officers could scarcely live with him, and he was given 
to strange caprices. It happened that at a ball in 
Clonmel he met the young daughter of Robert 
Power, then a mere child of fourteen years. Cap- 
tain Farmer was seized with an infatuation for the 
girl, and he went almost at once to her father, asking 
for her hand in marriage and proposing to settle 
a sum of money upon her if she married him. 

The hard-riding squireen jumped at the offer. 
His own estate was being stripped bare. Here was 
a chance to provide for one of his daughters, or, 
rather, to get rid of her, and he agreed that she should 
be married out of hand. Going home, he roughly 
informed the girl that she was to be the wife of Cap- 

343 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

tain Farmer. He so bullied his wife that she was 
compelled to join him in this command. 

What was poor little Margaret Power to do? She 
was only a child. She knew nothing of the world. 
She was accustomed to obey her father as she would 
have obeyed some evil genius who had her in his 
power. There were tears and lamentations. She 
was frightened half to death; yet for her there was 
no help. Therefore, while not yet fifteen her mar- 
riage took place, and she was the unhappy slave of 
a half -crazy tyrant. She had then no beauty what- 
soever. She was wholly undeveloped — thin and 
pale, and with rough hair that fell over her fright- 
ened eyes; yet Farmer wanted her, and he settled 
his money on her, just as he would have spent 
the same amount to gratify any other sudden 
whim. 

The life she led with him for a few months showed 
him to be more of a devil than a man. He took a 
peculiar delight in terrifying her, in subjecting her 
to every sort of outrage ; nor did he refrain even from 
beating her with his fists. The girl could stand a 
great deal, but this was too much. She returned to 
her father's house, where she was received with the 
bitterest reproaches, but where, at least, she was 
safe from harm, since her possession of a dowry 
made her a person of some small importance. 

Not long afterward Captain Farmer fell into a 
dispute with his colonel, Lord Caledon, and in the 
course of it he drew his sword on his commanding 
officer. The court-martial which was convened to 
try him would probably have had him shot were it 
not for the general belief that he was insane. So 
he was simply cashiered and obliged to leave the 
service and betake himself elsewhere. Thus the girl 

344 




THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON 



LADY BLESSINGTON AND D'ORSAY 

whom he had married was quite free — free to leave 
her wretched home and even to leave Ireland. 

She did leave Ireland and established herself in 
London, where she had some acquaintances, among 
them the Earl of Blessington. As already said, he 
had met her in Ireland while she was living with 
her husband ; and now from time to time he saw her 
in a friendly way. After the death of his wife he 
became infatuated with Margaret Farmer. She was 
a good deal alone, and his attentions gave her en- 
tertainment. Her past experience led her to have 
no real belief in love. She had become, however, 
in a small way interested in literature and art, with 
an eager ambition to be known as a writer. As it 
happened, Captain Farmer, whose name she bore, 
had died some months before Lord Blessington had 
decided to make a new marriage. The earl proposed 
to Margaret Farmer, and the two were married by 
special license. 

The Countess of Blessington — to give the lady 
her new title — was now twenty-eight years of age 
and had developed into a woman of great beauty. 
She was noted for the peculiarly vivacious and radi- 
ant expression which was always on her face. She 
had a kind of vivid loveliness accompanied by grace, 
simplicity, and a form of exquisite proportions. The 
ugly duckling had become a swan, for now there 
was no trace of her former plainness to be seen. 

Not yet in her life had love come to her. Her 
first husband had been thrust upon her and had 
treated her outrageously. Her second husband was 
much older than she; and, though she was not 
without a certain friendly feeling for one who had 
been kind to her, she married him, first of all, for 
his title and position. 

23 345 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

Having been reared in poverty, she had no con- 
ception of the value of money; and, though the earl 
was remarkably extravagant, the new countess was 
even more so. One after another their London 
houses were opened and decorated with the utmost 
lavishness. They gave innumerable entertainments, 
not only to the nobility and to men of rank, but — 
because this was Lady Blessington's peculiar fad — 
to artists and actors and writers of all degrees. The 
American, N. P. Willis, in his Pencilings by the Way, 
has given an interesting sketch of the countess and 
her surroundings, while the younger Disraeli (Lord 
Beaconsfield) has depicted D'Orsay as Count Mira- 
bel in Henrietta Temple. Willis says: 

In a long library, lined alternately with splendidly bound 
books and mirrors, and with a deep window of the breadth 
of the room opening upon Hyde Park, I found Lady Bless- 
ington alone. The picture, to my eye, as the door opened, 
was a very lovely one — a woman of remarkable beauty, half 
buried in a fauteuil of yellow satin, reading by a magnificent 
lamp suspended from the center of the arched ceiling. Sofas, 
couches, ottomans, and busts, arranged in rather a crowded 
sumptuousness through the room; enameled tables, covered 
with expensive and elegant trifles in every corner, and a deli- 
cate white hand in relief on the back of a book, to which the 
eye was attracted by the blaze of diamond rings. 

All this " crowded sumptuousness" was due to the 
taste of Lady Blessington. Amid it she received 
royal dukes, statesmen such as Palmerston, Canning, 
Castlereagh, Russell, and Brougham, actors such as 
Kemble and Matthews, artists such as Lawrence 
and Wilkie, and men of letters such as Moore, 
Bulwer-Lytton, and the two Disraelis. To main- 
tain this sort of life Lord Blessington raised large 
amounts of money, totaling about half a million 

346 



LADY BLESSINGTON AND D'ORSAY 

pounds sterling, by mortgaging his different es- 
tates and giving his promissory notes to money- 
lenders. Of course, he did not spend this vast sum 
immediately. He might have lived in comparative 
luxury upon his income; but he was a restless, 
eager, improvident nobleman, and his extravagances 
were prompted by the urgings of his wife. 

In all this display, which Lady Blessington both 
stimulated and shared, there is to be found a psycho- 
logical basis. She was now verging upon the thirties 
— a time which is a very critical period in a woman's 
emotional life, if she has not already given herself 
over to love and been loved in return. During Lady 
Blessington's earlier years she had suffered in many 
ways, and it is probable that no thought of love 
had entered her mind. She was only too glad if she 
could escape from the harshness of her father and 
the cruelty of her first husband. Then came her 
development into a beautiful woman, content for 
the time to be languorously stagnant and to enjoy 
the rest and peace which had come to her. 

When she married Lord Blessington her love life 
had not yet commenced; and, in fact, there could 
be no love life in such a marriage — a marriage with 
a man much older than herself, scatter-brained, 
showy, and having no intellectual gifts. So for a 
time she sought satisfaction in social triumphs, in 
capturing political and literary lions in order to ex- 
hibit them in her salon, and in spending money 
right and left with a lavish hand. But, after all, in 
a woman of her temperament none of these things 
could satisfy her inner longings. Beautiful, full of 
Celtic vivacity, imaginative and eager, such a nature 
as hers would in the end be starved unless her heart 
should be deeply touched and unless all her pent- 

347 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

up emotion could give itself up entirely in the great 
surrender. 

After a few years of London she grew restless and 
dissatisfied. Her surroundings wearied her. There 
was a call within her for something more than she 
had yet experienced. The earl, her husband, was 
by nature no less restless; and so, without knowing 
the reason — which, indeed, she herself did not under- 
stand — he readily assented to a journey on the Con- 
tinent. 

As they traveled southward they reached at length 
the town of Valence, where Count d'Orsay was still 
quartered with his regiment. A vague, indefinable 
feeling of attraction swept over this woman, who 
was now a woman of the world and yet quite in- 
experienced in affairs relating to the heart. The 
mere sound of the French officer's voice, the mere 
sight of his face, the mere knowledge of his presence, 
stirred her as nothing had ever stirred her until that 
time. Yet neither he nor she appears to have been 
conscious at once of the secret of their liking. It 
was enough that they were soothed and satisfied 
with each other's company. 

Oddly enough, the Earl of Blessington became as 
devoted to D'Orsay as did his wife. The two urged 
the count to secure a leave of absence and to ac- 
company them to Italy. This he was easily per- 
suaded to do; and the three passed weeks and 
months of a languorous and alluring intercourse 
among the lakes and the seductive influence of ro- 
mantic Italy. Just what passed between Count 
d'Orsay and Margaret Blessington at this time can- 
not be known, for the secret of it has perished with 
them; but it is certain that before very long they 
came to know that each was indispensable to the other, 

348 



LADY BLESSINGTON AND D'ORSAY 

The situation was complicated by the Earl of 
Blessington, who, entirely unsuspicious and being 
very fond of D'Orsay, proposed that the Count 
should marry Lady Harriet Gardiner, his eldest legit- 
imate daughter by his first wife. He pressed the 
match upon the embarrassed D'Orsay, and offered 
to settle the sum of forty thousand pounds upon the 
bride. The girl was less than fifteen years of age. 
She had no gifts either of beauty or of intelligence; 
and, in addition, D'Orsay was now deeply in love 
with her stepmother. 

On the other hand, his position with the Blessing- 
tons was daily growing more difficult. People had 
begun to talk of the almost open relations between 
Count d'Orsay and Lady Blessington. Lord Byron, 
in a letter written to the countess, spoke to her openly 
and in a playful way of "your D'Orsay." The man- 
ners and morals of the time were decidedly irregular; 
yet sooner or later the earl was sure to gain some hint 
of what every one was saying. Therefore, much 
against his real desire, yet in order to shelter his 
relations with Lady Blessington, D'Orsay agreed to 
the marriage with Lady Harriet, and he did marry 
her when she was fifteen years of age. 

This shut the mouths of scandal-mongers, at least, 
and made the intimacy between D'Orsay and the 
Blessingtons appear to be not unusual; but, as a 
matter of fact, the marriage was no marriage. The 
unattractive girl who had become a bride merely to 
hide the indiscretions of her stepmother was left 
entirely to herself; while the whole family, return- 
ing to London, made their home together in Seymour 
Place. 

Could D'Orsay have foreseen the future he would 
never have done what must always seem an act so 

349 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

utterly unworthy of him. For within two years 
Lord Blessington fell ill and died. Had not D'Orsay 
been married he would now have been free to marry 
Lady Blessington. As it was, he was bound fast to 
her stepdaughter; and since at that time there was 
no divorce court in England, and since he had no 
reason for seeking a divorce, he was obliged to live 
on through many years in a most ambiguous situa- 
tion. He did, however, separate himself from his 
childish bride; and, having done so, he openly took 
up his residence with Lady Blessington at Gore 
House. By this time, however, the companionship 
of the two had received a sort of general sanction, 
and in that easy-going age most people took it as a 
matter of small consequence. 

The two were now quite free to live precisely 
as they would. Lady Blessington became extrava- 
gantly happy, and Count d'Orsay was accepted in 
London as an oracle of fashion. Every one was 
eager to visit Gore House, and there they received 
all the notable men of the time. The improvidence 
of Lady Blessington, however, was in no respect 
diminished. She lived upon her jointure, recklessly 
spending capital as well as interest, and gathering 
under her roof a rare museum of artistic works, from 
jewels and curios up to magnificent pictures and 
beautiful statuary. 

D'Orsay had sufficient self-respect not to live 
upon the money that had come to Lady Blessington 
from her husband. He was a skilful painter, and he 
practised his art in a professional way. His por- 
trait of the Duke of Wellington was preferred by 
that famous soldier to any other that had been made 
of him. The Iron Duke was, in fact, a frequent 
visitor at Gore House, and he had a very high opin- 

35o 



LADY BLESSINGTON AND D'ORSAY 

ion of Count d'Orsay. Lady Blessington herself en- 
gaged in writing, putting forth novels of "high 
life," some of which were very popular in their day. 
But of all that she wrote there remains only one 
book which is of permanent value — her Conversa- 
tions with Lord Byron, a very valuable contribution 
to our knowledge of the brilliant poet. 

But a nemesis was destined to overtake the pair. 
Lady Blessington had lived with true Irish improvi- 
dence. Money flowed through her hands like water, 
and she could never be brought to understand that 
what she had might not last for ever. Finally, it 
was all gone, yet her extravagance continued. Debts 
were heaped up mountain-high. She signed notes 
of hand without even reading them. She incurred 
obligations of every sort without a moment's hesi- 
tation. 

For a long time her creditors held aloof, not be- 
lieving that her resources were in reality exhausted; 
but in the end there came a crash as sudden as it 
was ruinous. As if moved by a single impulse, those 
to whom she owed money took out judgments 
against her and descended upon Gore House in a 
swarm. This was in the spring of 1849, when Lady 
Blessington was in her sixtieth year and D'Orsay 
fifty-one. 

It is a curious coincidence that her earliest novel 
had portrayed the wreck of a great establishment 
such as her own. Of the scene in Gore House Mr. 
Madden, Lady Blessington's literary biographer, has 
written : 

Numerous creditors, bill-discounters, money-lenders, jewelers, 
lace- venders, tax-collectors, gas-company agents, all persons 
having claims to urge pressed them at this period simultane- 
ously. An execution for a debt of four thousand pounds was at 

351 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

length put in by a house largely engaged in the silk, lace, India- 
shawl, and fancy- jewelry business. 

This sum of four thousand pounds was only a 
nominal claim, but it opened the flood-gates for 
all of Lady Blessington's creditors. Mr. Madden 
writes still further: 

On the ioth of May, 1849, I visited Gore House for the last 
time. The auction was going on. There was a large assemblage 
of people of fashion. Every room was thronged; the well- 
known library-salon, in which the conversaziones took place, 
was crowded, but not with guests. The arm-chair in which the 
lady of the mansion was wont to sit was occupied by a stout, 
coarse gentleman of the Jewish persuasion, busily engaged in 
examining a marble hand extended on a book, the fingers of 
which were modeled from a cast of those of the absent mistress 
of the establishment. People, as they passed through the room, 
poked the furniture, pulled about the precious objects of art 
and ornaments of various kinds that lay on the table; and some 
made jests and ribald jokes on the scene they witnessed. 

At this compulsory sale things went for less than 
half their value. Pictures by Lawrence and Land- 
seer, a library consisting of thousands of volumes, 
vases of exquisite workmanship, chandeliers of or- 
molu, and precious porcelains — all were knocked 
down relentlessly at farcical prices. Lady Blessing- 
ton reserved nothing for herself. She knew that 
the hour had struck, and very soon she was on her 
way to Paris, whither Count d'Orsay had already 
gone, having been threatened with arrest by a boot- 
maker to whom he owed five hundred pounds. 

D'Orsay very naturally went to Paris, for, like his 
father, he had always been an ardent Bonapartist, 
and now Prince Louis Bonaparte had been chosen 
president of the Second French Republic. During 
the prince's long period of exile he had been the guest 

352 



LADY BLESSINGTON AND D'ORSAY 

of Count d'Orsay, who had helped him both with 
money and with influence. D'Orsay now expected 
some return for his former generosity. It came, 
but it came too late. In 1852, shortly after Prince 
Louis assumed the title of emperor, the count was 
appointed director of fine arts, with a suitable in- 
come; but when the news was brought to him he 
was already dying. Lady Blessington died soon 
after coming to Paris, before the end of the year 
1849. 

Comment upon this tangled story is scarcely 
needed. Yet one may quote some sayings from a 
sort of diary which Lady Blessington called her 
"Night Book." They seem to show that her su- 
preme happiness lasted only for a little while, and 
that deep down in her heart she had condemned 
herself. 

A woman's head is always influenced by her heart; but a 
man's heart is always influenced by his head. 

The separation of friends by death is less terrible than the 
divorce of two hearts that have loved, but have ceased to sym- 
pathize, while memory still recalls what they once were to each 
other. 

People are seldom tired of the world until the world is tired 
of them. 

A woman should not paint sentiment until she has ceased 
to inspire it. 

It is less difficult for a woman to obtain celebrity by her 
genius than to be pardoned for it. 

Memory seldom fails when its office is to show us the tombs 
of our buried hopes. 



THE STORY OF RACHEL 



THE STORY OF RACHEL 

OUTSIDE of the English-speaking peoples the 
nineteenth century witnessed the rise and tri- 
umphant progress of three great tragic actresses. 
The first two of these — Rachel Felix and Sarah 
Bernhardt — were of Jewish extraction; the third, 
Eleanor Duse, is Italian. All of them made their 
way from pauperism to fame; but perhaps the rise 
of Rachel was the most striking. 

In the winter of 182 1 a wretched peddler named 
Abraham — or Jacob — Felix sought shelter at a dilapi- 
dated inn at Mumpf, a village in Switzerland, not far 
from Basel. It was at the close of a stormy day, and 
his small family had been toiling through the snow 
and sleet. The inn was the lowest sort of hovel, 
and yet its proprietor felt that it was too good for 
these vagabonds. He consented to receive them 
only when he learned that the peddler's wife was 
to be delivered of a child. That very night she be- 
came the mother of a girl, who was at first called 
Elise. So unimportant was the advent of this little 
waif into the world that the burgomaster of Mumpf 
thought it necessary to make an entry only of the 
fact that a peddler's wife had given birth to a female 
child. There was no mention of family or religion, 
nor was the record anything more than a memo- 
randum. 

Under such circumstances was born a child who 
357 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

was destined to excite the wonder of European 
courts — to startle and thrill and utterly amaze great 
audiences by her dramatic genius. But for ten 
years the family — which grew until it consisted of 
one son and five daughters — kept on its wanderings 
through Switzerland and Germany. Finally, they 
settled down in Lyons, where the mother opened a 
little shop for the sale of second-hand clothing. 
The husband gave lessons in German whenever he 
could find a pupil. The eldest daughter went about 
the cafes in the evening, singing the songs that were 
then popular, while her small sister, Rachel, collected 
coppers from those who had coppers to spare. 

Although the family was barely able to sustain 
existence, the father and mother were by no means 
as ignorant as their squalor would imply. The 
peddler Felix had studied Hebrew theology in the 
hope of becoming a rabbi. Failing this, he was al- 
ways much interested in declamation, public read- 
ing, and the recitation of poetry. He was, in his 
way, no mean critic of actors and actresses. Long 
before she was ten years of age little Rachel — who 
had changed her name from Elise — could render 
with much feeling and neatness of eloquence bits 
from the best-known French plays of the classic 
stage. 

The children's mother, on her side, was sharp 
and practical to a high degree. She saved and 
scrimped all through her period of adversity. Later 
she was the banker of her family, and would never 
lend any of her children a sou except on excellent 
security. However, this was all to happen in after 
years. 

When the child who was destined to be famous 
had reached her tenth year she and her sisters made. 

358 



THE STORY OF RACHEL 

their way to Paris. For four years the second-hand 
clothing-shop was continued; the father still taught 
German; and the elder sister, Sarah, who had a 
golden voice, made the rounds of the cafes in the 
lowest quarters of the capital, while Rachel passed 
the wooden plate for coppers. 

One evening in the year 1834 a gentleman named 
Morin, having been taken out of his usual course 
by a matter of business, entered a brasserie for a cup 
of coffee. There he noted two girls, one of them 
singing with remarkable sweetness, and the other 
silently following with the wooden plate. M. Morin 
called to him the girl who sang and asked her why 
she did not make her voice more profitable than by 
haunting the cafes at night, where she was sure to 
meet with insults of the grossest kind. 

"Why," said Sarah, "I haven't anybody to ad- 
vise me what to do." 

M. Morin gave her his address and said that he 
would arrange to have her meet a friend who would 
be of great service to her. On the following day he 
sent the two girls to a M. Choron, who was the head 
of the Conservatory of Sacred Music. Choron had 
Sarah sing, and instantly admitted her as a pupil, 
which meant that she would soon be enrolled among 
the regular choristers. The beauty of her voice 
made a deep impression on him. 

Then he happened to notice the puny, meager 
child who was standing near her sister. Turning 
to her, he said: 

"And what can you do, little one?" 

"I can recite poetry," was the reply. 

"Oh, can you?" said he. "Please let me hear 
you." 

Rachel readily consented. She had a peculiarly 

359 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

harsh, grating voice, so that any but a very com- 
petent judge would have turned her away. But M. 
Choron, whose experience was great, noted the cor- 
rectness of her accent and the feeling which made 
itself felt in every line. He accepted her as well as 
her sister, but urged her to study elocution rather 
than music. 

She must, indeed, have had an extraordinary power 
even at the age of fourteen, since not merely her 
voice but her whole appearance was against her. 
She was dressed in a short calico frock of a pattern 
in which red was spotted with white. Her shoes 
were of coarse black leather. Her hair was parted 
at the back of her head and hung down her shoul- 
ders in two braids, framing the long, childish, and yet 
gnome-like face, which was unusual in its gravity. 

At first she was little thought of; but there came 
a time when she astonished both her teachers and 
her companions by a recital which she gave in 
public. The part was the narrative of Salema in 
the " Abufar " of Ducis. It describes the agony of 
a mother who gives birth to a child while dying of 
thirst amid the desert sands. Mme. de Barviera 
has left a description of this recital, which it is 
worth while to quote: 

While uttering the thrilling tale the thin face seemed to 
lengthen with horror, the small, deep-set black eyes dilated 
with a fixed stare as though she witnessed the harrowing scene; 
and the deep, guttural tones, despite a slight Jewish accent, 
awoke a nameless terror in every one who listened, carrying 
him through the imaginary woe with a strange feeling of reality, 
not to be shaken off as long as the sounds lasted. 

Even yet, however, the time had not come for 
any conspicuous success. The girl was still so puny 

360 



THE STORY OF RACHEL 

in form, so monkey-like in face, and so gratingly un- 
pleasant in her tones that it needed time for her 
to attain her full growth and to smooth away some 
of the discords in her peculiar voice. 

Three years later she appeared at the Gymnase 
in a regular debut; yet even then only the experi- 
enced few appreciated her greatness. Among these, 
however, were the well-known critic Jules Janin, 
the poet and novelist Gauthier, and the actress 
Mile. Mars. They saw that this lean, raucous gut- 
ter-girl had within her gifts which would increase 
until she would be first of all actresses on the French 
stage. Janin wrote some lines which explain the 
secret of her greatness: 

All the talent in the world, especially when continually ap- 
plied to the same dramatic works, will not satisfy continually 
the hearer. What pleases in a great actor, as in all arts that 
appeal to the imagination, is the unforeseen. When I am ut- 
terly ignorant of what is to happen, when I do not know, when 
you yourself do not know what will be your next gesture, your 
next look, what passion will possess your heart, what outcry 
will burst from your terror-stricken soul, then, indeed, I am 
willing to see you daily, for each day you will be new to me. 
To-day I may blame, to-morrow praise. Yesterday you were 
all-powerful; to-morrow, perhaps, you may hardly win from 
me a word of admiration. So much the better, then, if you 
draw from me unexpected tears, if in my heart you strike an 
unknown fiber; but tell me not of hearing night after night 
great artists who every time present the exact counterpart of 
what they were on the preceding one. 

It was at the Theatre Francais that she won her 
final acceptance as the greatest of all tragedians of 
her time. This was in her appearance in Corneille's 
famous play of " Horace/ ' She had now, in 1838, 
blazed forth with a power that shook her no less 
than it stirred the emotions and the passions of her 
24 361 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

hearers. The princes of the royal blood came in 
succession to see her. King Louis Philippe himself 
was at last tempted by curiosity to be present. 
Gifts of money and jewels were showered on her, 
and through sheer natural genius rather than 
through artifice she was able to master a great 
audience and bend it to her will. 

She had no easy life, this girl of eighteen years, 
for other actresses carped at her, and she had had 
but little training. The sordid ways of her old father 
excited a bitterness which was vented on the daugh- 
ter. She was still under age, and therefore was 
treated as a gold-mine by her exacting parents. At 
the most she could play but twice a week. Her form 
was frail and reedlike. She was threatened with a 
complaint of the lungs; yet all this served to excite 
rather than to diminish public interest in her. The 
newspapers published daily bulletins of her health, 
and her door was besieged by anxious callers who 
wished to know her condition. As for the greed of 
her parents, every one said she was not to blame for 
that. And so she passed from poverty to riches, from 
squalor to something like splendor, and from ob- 
scurity to fame. 

Much has been written about her that is quite 
incorrect. She has been credited with virtues which 
she never possessed; and, indeed, it may be said 
with only too much truth that she possessed no 
virtues whatsoever. On the stage while the inspi- 
ration lasted she was magnificent. Off the stage 
she was sly, treacherous, capricious, greedy, un- 
grateful, ignorant, and unchaste. With such an 
ancestry as she had, with such an early childhood 
as had been hers, what else could one expect from 
her? 

362 



THE STORY OF RACHEL 

She and her old mother wrangled over money 
like two pickpockets. Some of her best friends 
she treated shamefully. Her avarice was without 
bounds. Some one said that it was not really ava- 
rice, but only a reaction from generosity; but this 
seems an exceedingly subtle theory. It is possible 
to give illustrations of it, however. She did, indeed, 
make many presents with a lavish hand ; yet, having 
made a present, she could not rest until she got it 
back. The fact was so well known that her asso- 
ciates took it for granted. The younger Dumas 
once received a ring from her. Immediately he 
bowed low and returned it to her finger, saying: 

" Permit me, mademoiselle, to present it to you 
in my turn so as to save you the embarrassment of 
asking for it." 

Mr. Vandam relates among other anecdotes about 
her that one evening she dined at the house of 
Comte Duchatel. The table was loaded with the 
most magnificent flowers; but Rachel's keen eyes 
presently spied out the great silver centerpiece. 
Immediately she began to admire the latter; and 
the count, fascinated by her manners, said that he 
would be glad to present it to her. She accepted it 
at once, but was rather fearful lest he should change 
his mind. She had come to dinner in a cab, and men- 
tioned the fact. The count offered to send her home 
in his carriage. 

"Yes, that will do admirably/' said she. "There 
will be no danger of my being robbed of your present, 
which I had better take with me." 

"With pleasure, mademoiselle," replied the count. 
"But you will send me back my carriage, won't 
you?" 

Rachel had a curious way of asking every one 

3 6 3 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

she met for presents and knickknacks, whether they 
were valuable or not. She knew how to make them 
valuable. 

Once in a studio she noticed a guitar hanging on 
the wall. She begged for it very earnestly. As it 
was an old and almost worthless instrument, it was 
given her. A little later it was reported that the 
dilapidated guitar had been purchased by a well- 
known gentleman for a thousand francs. The ex- 
planation soon followed. Rachel had declared that 
it was the very guitar with which she used to earn 
her living as a child in the streets of Paris. As a 
memento its value sprang from twenty francs to a 
thousand. 

It has always been a mystery what Rachel did 
with the great sums of money which she made in 
various ways. She never was well dressed; and as 
for her costumes on the stage, they were furnished 
by the theater. When her effects were sold at pub- 
lic auction after her death her furniture was worse 
than commonplace, and her pictures and ornaments 
were worthless, except such as had been given her. 
She must have made millions of francs, and yet she 
had very little to leave behind her. 

Some say that her brother Raphael, who acted 
as her personal manager, was a spendthrift; but 
if so, there are many reasons for thinking that it 
was not his sister's money that he spent. Others 
say that Rachel gambled in stocks, but there is no 
evidence of it. The only thing that is certain is the 
fact that she was almost always in want of money. 
Her mother, in all probability, managed to get hold 
of most of her earnings. 

Much may have been lost through her caprices. 
One instance may be cited. She had received an 

3 6 4 



THE STORY OF RACHEL 

offer of three hundred thousand francs to act at St. 
Petersburg, and was on her way there when she 
passed through Potsdam, near Berlin. The King of 
Prussia was entertaining the Russian Czar. An 
invitation was sent to her in the shape of a royal 
command to appear before these monarchs and their 
guests. For some reason or other Rachel absolutely 
refused. She would listen to no arguments. She 
would go on to St. Petersburg without delay. 

'But," it was said to her, "if you refuse to ap- 
pear before the Czar at Potsdam all the theaters in 
St. Petersburg will be closed against you, because 
you will have insulted the emperor. In this way 
you will be out the expenses of your journey and also 
the three hundred thousand francs.' ' 

Rachel remained stubborn as before ; but in about 
half an hour she suddenly declared that she would 
recite before the two monarchs, which she subse- 
quently did, to the satisfaction of everybody. Some 
one said to her not long after: 

"I knew that you would do it. You weren't go- 
ing to give up the three hundred thousand francs 
and all your traveling expenses." 

"You are quite wrong," returned Rachel, "though 
of course you will not believe me. I did not care at 
all about the money and was going back to France. 
It was something that I heard which made me 
change my mind. Do you want to know what it 
was? Well, after all the arguments were over some 
one informed me that the Czar Nicholas was the 
handsomest man in Europe; and so I made up my 
mind that I would stay in Potsdam long enough to 
see him." 

This brings us to one phase of Rachel's nature 
which is rather sinister. She was absolutely hard. 

365 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

She seemed to have no emotions except those which 
she exhibited on the stage or the impish perversity 
which irritated so many of those about her. She 
was in reality a product of the gutter, able to assume 
a demure and modest air, but within coarse, vulgar, 
and careless of decency. Yet the words of Jules 
Janin, which have been quoted above, explain how 
she could be personally very fascinating. 

In all Rachel's career one can detect just a single 
strand of real romance. It is one that makes us 
sorry for her, because it tells us that her love was 
given where it never could be openly requited. 

During the reign of Louis Philippe the Comte 
Alexandre Walewski held many posts in the govern- 
ment. He was a son of the great Napoleon. His 
mother was that Polish countess who had accepted 
Napoleon's love because she hoped that he might 
set Poland free at her desire. But Napoleon was 
never swerved from his well-calculated plans by the 
wish of any woman, and after a time the Countess 
Walewska came to love him for himself. It was she 
to whom he confided secrets which he would not 
reveal to his own brothers. It was she who followed 
him to Elba in disguise. It was her son who was 
Napoleon's son, and who afterward, under the Sec- 
ond Empire, was made minister of fine arts, minister 
of foreign affairs, and, finally, an imperial duke. 
Unlike the third Napoleon's natural half-brother, 
the Due de Moray, Walewski was a gentleman of 
honor and fine feeling. He never used his relation- 
ship to secure advantages for himself. He tried to 
live in a manner worthy of the great warrior who 
was his father. 

As minister of fine arts he had much to do with 
the subsidized theaters; and in time he came to 

366 



THE STORY OF RACHEL 

know Rachel. He was the son of one of the greatest 
men who ever lived. She was the child of roving 
peddlers whose early training had been in the slums 
of cities and amid the smoke of bar-rooms and cafes. 
With all her genius she was tainted in a thousand 
ways, while he was a man of breeding and right 
principle. She was a wandering actress; he was a 
great minister of state. What could there be be- 
tween these two? 

George Sand gave the explanation in an epigram 
which, like most epigrams, is only partly true. She 
said: 

"The count's company must prove very restful 
to Rachel." 

What she meant was, of course, that Walewski's 
breeding, his dignity and uprightness, might be re- 
garded only as a temporary repose for the impish, 
harsh- voiced, infinitely clever actress. Of course, it 
was all this, but we should not take it in a mocking 
sense. Rachel looked up out of her depths and gave 
her heart to this high-minded nobleman. He looked 
down and lifted her, as it were, so that she could 
forget for the time all the baseness and the brutality 
that she had known, that she might put aside her 
forced vivacity and the self that was not in reality 
her own. 

It is pitiful to think of these two, separated by 
a great abyss which could not be passed except at 
times and hours when each was free. But theirs 
was, none the less, a meeting of two souls, strangely 
different in many ways, and yet appealing to each 
other with a sincerity and truth which neither could 
show elsewhere. 

The end of poor Rachel was one of disappoint- 
ment. Tempted by the fact that Jenny Lind had 

367 



FAMOUS AFFINITIES OF HISTORY 

made nearly two million francs by her visit to the 
United States, Rachel followed her, but with slight 
success, as was to be expected. Music is enjoyed 
by human beings everywhere, while the French 
classical plays, even though acted by a genius like 
Rachel, could be rightly understood only by a 
French-speaking people. Thus it came about that 
her visit to America was only moderately successful. 
She returned to France, where the rising fame of 
Adelaide Ristori was very bitter to Rachel, who had 
passed the zenith of her power. She went to Egypt, 
but received no benefit, and in 1858 she died near 
Cannes. The man who loved her, and whom she 
had loved in turn, heard of her death with great 
emotion. He himself lived ten years longer, and died 
a little while before the Second Empire crashed to 
pieces. 



THE END 



°-^Wi 






$ ^ 



jf ^u 






< 



v. 




'W 



^vd* 













v < *j 



"J ^o* - 



Q. y o * k 

> % a^ *W^ % ■ & * 
C 







4> ~ -^a^ j? 

^ A*> *^K\W/h/ r ^ A* 




% V * v * ° > «%> 

^* A^ ^jAW/*) r ^ A^ * 



^c? 




?*%>, 



























£V Q, 









' « v 










° W : 



<£ ^c 
,? <* 

























n <p<<? 



£^% 



H Q 

















£"%. 



